Tehiyyat haMetim
by preciselypotter
Summary: AU, Spoilers for 5x10. While Dean tracks Meg and bounty hunters track Sam, rumors of a magical place creep across the countryside, holding secrets and familiar faces. But what exactly is Camp Lazarus? And what does the Trickster have to do with anything? -Permanently hiatused, because you guys, seriously.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I am a devoted servant of the Great Kripke and would never, _ever_ steal anything he's ever created. I'm just having a little bit of fun.

(Author's Note): So, after bawling my eyes out and stabbing a picture of Kripke with a long, sharp knife (joke), I've decided to break my first and foremost rule of fanfics and write an AU story. Because I love Jo and Ellen that much. And it's a lot more serious than "Severed Heads," with a whole lot more mythos.

For those of you waiting on my other story, I'm working on the final chapter now, only I keep breaking into tears after each paragraph (I'm usually not like this). I'll get it to you before Thanksgiving.

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Tehiyyat ha-Metim

Prologue

There was a strange light in the distance.

She faded in an out, unable to focus. Yet the light was there whenever she was aware.

Strange echoes filled her ears, if that was the right description. It felt as though she was no longer in her own body, more as though she was a stream of consciousness, some sort of all-encompassing being that not only felt, but _knew_.

Everything was a thousand times clearer, and the sheer intensity of that clarity was beautiful at times, too much at others. She was unaware of anything when it became a burden.

In her awareness of the world, Jo (if she was still that small person) knew that she had died.

Her last memories were of her mother, cradling her with the button ready to go. To save Sam and Dean.

That was all that mattered at the time, and now she knew so much more, she could see Everything all at the same time yet only that light, that brilliant white light that was growing ever closer, the one thing not part of her.

Somehow, she was the trees. She was every leaf, every branch, every bird in the sky and fish in the water.

Greater still, she was the water. And the dirt. She was the whisper of the wind, and the tears on the face of a man.

She was the little girl who had taken a bite of ice cream (such an innocent thing), and she was the man with his arms outstretched to protect his wife from the American soldiers. She was named Mary, Alice, Robert, Isaiah, Grant, Sarah, Elizabeth, Lin, Hai Chan, Mugabi…

No longer just Jo Harvelle.

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She was awake again. Or, perhaps not awake, for she was never truly asleep, simply… not there. And now she was back, the light nearly touching her skin. She could feel the light, could taste the exploding warmth of it, unlike anything her earthly confines had ever experienced.

The golden glow embraced her, and she felt a burning that did not belong, for her many bodies weren't in this pain.

It was a burn of the soul, and it seared throughout her awareness until nothing was there anymore.

And then, suddenly, she stood on legs that were her own, and hands that moved to touch her body, familiar and unmarked.

She was Jo Harvelle again.

It was disorienting; a hand went to her head in a practiced motion and felt the long, wavy blonde hair she had possessed before.

When she looked around, it seemed as though she was in a ghost town, or perhaps an abandoned military base. The dead silence would have scared her in the past. She remembered that empty, spooky town where she had been attacked by a hellhound… Jo touched her stomach and found there was no wound, no mark of her death. But, she should have been pieces of charred flesh by now, not this.

"Welcome back," said a voice behind her, tinged with sarcasm.

Jo spun and saw a man standing ten feet away, thumbs hooked in his jean pockets and a smile (more like a good-natured smirk) on his face. His eyes looked her up and down, and she remembered a human body needed clothes.

Strangely, in front of this man, she felt no need to dress.

"I'm surprised by what humans will do sometimes," the man went on, starting to circle her a leisurely pace. "Your race can be so self-centered and cruel. But then there are the ones like you, Joanna, and your mother, who sacrifice themselves willingly."

"What is this?" she asked. She turned to follow his movements.

"This," the man said, "Is my grand plan. My own little war against war, if you will." He stopped and looked at her intently, still smirking.

"How am I alive?" Jo pressed. Her mind felt empty and cluttered, all at the same time. None of the looseness that she experienced when she was Everything. Habits that she knew existed once felt odd and suppressing.

"I brought you back," he told her. "It took some work, let me tell you. That bomb you created was a serious ammo. I'm still working on recovering your mom."

Thoughts flickered through her head, like drops of water – escaping before they had time to fully bloom.

The man frowned slightly. "I thought you'd be pleased to know I was bringing your mother back, too."

"How are you doing this?" she asked again, desperate to find out. "Who are you?"

His grin widened. "You can call me Gabriel," he said. "I'm an archangel – well, sort of. For the last three millennia, I've been known better as a Trickster. But that's mostly technicalities. Facts are this: I'm a heavenly host kind of guy, and I've got the juice to resurrect people, with a few… added advantages."

Jo paused in her thoughts, allowing a memory to trickle in. "An angel like Castiel? Thrown out of heaven?"

"Hmm… not quite," said Gabriel, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Castiel got thrown. I sort of… ran away. Got to keep a lot of powers he's sadly lacking in."

"Like healing and resurrection," she assumed.

"And exorcising demons, and creating alternate realities, and making you."

"Is this an alternate reality?"

Gabriel shook his head. "This is earth, baby. In the flesh."

Jo let everything the archangel said sink in. She had died; that's what the awareness was. She truly had been Everything, and some part of her wanted to return to Everything. Her human body, her identity of Joanna Beth Harvelle, it was all too much but not enough, not even by a long shot.

And then it hit her. "My mother," she gasped. "When will she be here?"

"That's more like it!" Gabriel exclaimed with a smile.

"When?"

"Give me some time," he urged. "I'm bringing her back as soon as we're done here. Anyway, I need her. Just like I need you, and all the people like you."

Something he kept repeating felt strangely off. "What's so different about me?" demanded Jo. "What added advantages. What makes me different?"

"I was waiting for you to catch that," the archangel said, resuming his circling pace. "See, I'm what you would call the middle brother of five. My oldest bro is named Michael. He's a bad ass guy, always taking orders from daddy. Michael likes to get things done, and let me tell you, he's nothing like John Travolta plays him. I mean, if that was any angel, that was me.

"Next up is Seraphiel. You guys don't hear too much about her, 'cause her thing has nothing to do with humans. She's the boss of the garrison, which your buddy Castiel was a part of. In human terms, my sister is the general of the angels. Seraphiel only answers to Michael, and God himself. Well, if God were around, that is.

"The brother after me is Raphael. He packs a punch." The archangel paused to chuckle over something, perhaps a memory or a conviction. "Unfortunately, my little bro doesn't really have the leadership quality the rest of us do. I mean, the guy doesn't know which way is up half the time. His task over the millennia has been to guard our prophets and certain important ass kickers. He hung out with Jesus a lot, made sure they killed him at the right time and whatnot.

"And then there's Lucifer." Gabriel sighed and stopped walking. "The youngest. Always looked up to Michael, at least until dad decided he wanted humans.

"For some reason, our youngest brother was created with a whole lot of power. He used to be the gentlest spirit. But he was jealous of humanity, because you guys are made in God's image and he just _hates_ that. So he rebelled, and Michael cast him down and locked him away. Until the Winchesters got in the way."

Jo froze. "The Winchesters?"

The archangel shrugged. "Dean broke the first seal. Not that I can blame him, or anything. Sam… he's a different story. Didn't listen to a damn word and broke the final seal."

She took a deep breath, trying to let her compact mind understand everything she just learned.

Minutes ago (or perhaps a lifetime), she had countless minds and could comprehend Everything, something she wished would return because she was getting a headache.

"So what's your story?" she asked. "What's the reason I'm standing here, and you ran away?"

"You sharp little thing," he teased. "I left heaven because watching my family tear itself apart was more than I could bear to watch. I got a little makeover, danced to a different groove… but someone gave me a little kick in the pants, and I'm not gonna ignore that."

"Who?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Who… what?"

"Who put your head on straight?"

"Oh, so embarrassing," the archangel groaned. He let out a rough sigh. "None other than your man Dean. We'll never speak of this again, got that? So here's the thing; I'm tired of the fighting, have been since day one. Only now, I'm doing things a little differently.

"I'm bringing back your type of people. You know, the ones who give themselves up willingly. Soldiers, hunters, whatever's available. I'm giving you all some special powers, and your base of operations will be here."

Jo took a step back, struggling to breathe. "We're your experiment?" she snapped, glaring at the archangel. "I'm not for your entertainment."

"Believe me, playtime's over," said Gabriel, walking up to her. He looked down at her with a furious expression. "It's not a walk in the park to give you these abilities. I'm exhausted enough when I bring you back to life. But all of you are going to be my soldiers, and I need you prepared."

"Can I ask why it's us?" she said, meeting his eyes squarely. "Those of us who sacrifice ourselves?"

"You're the worthy ones," he told her. "If you can give your life for others, you deserve a little bit of Grace."

She crossed her arms. "Tell me what you've done to me."

He rolled his eyes. "Besides bring you back to life?"

Jo nods.

The archangel put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's see…"

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(Author's Note): I hope I captured the Gabster well enough. Being my first ever AU story, I'm a little bit hesitant since I'm not exactly tying this into the show, and therefore it's kind of my own thing instead of a specific guideline. Meaning I'm not following the rules of time. Tell me what you think so far!

Please Review ^_^


	2. One: Penitence

Disclaimer: I am a devoted servant of the Great Kripke and would never, _ever _steal anything he's ever created. I'm just having a little bit of fun.

(Author's Note): Wow, you guys are incredible! I left my computer alone while I slept and when I woke up twelve hours later (I'm a teenager, sue me) I couldn't believe my eyes. Best birthday present ever. Here you guys are.

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Tehiyyat ha-Metim

Chapter One: Penitence

Sam watched his brother slowly crack into a thousand pieces, and was helpless to stop it. It was like watching a hurricane barrel its way across the coast, a powerful force of nature that could only stop once it had burnt itself out.

He was waiting for Dean to stop but the end wasn't in sight.

Bobby wheeled up next to him on the porch. "Didn't realize putting him to work would be like this."

They both looked at Dean, who was busy at work in the yard, fixing cars Bobby couldn't get to. It reminded him of their dad's death, and all his brother would do was work on the Impala. All of the same drive, and less control.

"I don't know what to do for him," Sam sighed.

"What did he do for you when your girlfriend died?" Bobby asked.

Sam paused and glanced down at the man he sometimes called "dad" in his mind. "Wait… what are you talking about?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You blind, boy? Your brother was in love."

He frowned. Dean didn't fall in love very often; the only girl he'd ever known about was Cassie, and they seemed unable to keep their relationship afloat. After that small fling in Cape Girardeau, things went back to normal.

Obviously, Sam's impression of his older brother was wildly off if Bobby could pick up what was going on, and he couldn't.

"With Jo?"

"Of course with Jo, you idgit," the old man grunted. "Didn't you see how they looked at each other?"

"Dean wanted to get in her pants," argued Sam. "That's not the same thing."

Bobby reached over and smacked his leg. "Well, you must not have been looking very hard. Me, I saw what was going down the minute she walked through that door with her mother. If you caught the way his face lit up… you would've known."

With that, he rolled back into the house.

Sam stared at his brother, this new revelation ruminating in his thoughts.

When Jessica was killed, Dean took him hunting for the yellow-eyed demon, Azazel. Revenge was perhaps not the brightest idea, but it kept Sam busy as he mourned her death. Knowing his brother, perhaps vengeance was a bad plan.

Even though Sam already knew what would happen, he went to go talk to Dean.

Completely focused on the piston he was replacing, Dean didn't look up until Sam was right there next to him.

"Hey," Sam said weakly.

His brother paused, not looking at him. "Hey," he muttered back.

"I just wanted to say… I know what you're going through," he told Dean. It was strange, for once, to be in the role of the knowledgeable caretaker.

"That's real nice of you, Sammy, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean started his movements again, distractedly grabbing a wrench. The squared shoulders, bowed head, jerky motions all revealed one simple truth, and Sam hated to see it. His brother had been broken so many times in the past, and he didn't deserve it then like he didn't deserve it now.

"Look, man, I think you need to talk about this," he urged.

"Talk?" Dean dropped his tools and turned to face him, wearing a guarded expression. "About what?"

"You lost Jo," said Sam quietly.

"We all lost Jo and Ellen," his brother reminded him. Never mind that Sam could see his eyes tighten a little.

"But you lost Jo," he repeated. "I… I didn't know how much she meant to you."

Dean groaned and grabbed a ragged, filthy towel, wiping his hands distractedly. "Just shut up, okay?"

As always, the instinct to obey his older brother raged with his determination to help him. "I've been there, Dean. When I lost Jess, I thought the world had stopped spinning, and everything looked gray and… I blamed myself for everything. But, Dean, it's not your fault."

"This isn't Good Will Hunting," snapped Dean. "And don't tell me it wasn't my fault. If I hadn't been taken down by that hellhound –" he cut himself off, looking up at the sky as though somehow, someone would answer him.

"It's not your fault," insisted Sam. "Meg did this."

"Doesn't matter, Sam!" his brother yelled, loosing his usually iron-clad grip on his emotions. "Doesn't matter how, or why, or… Jo's dead! She died for _me_, and I'm tired of people sacrificing themselves to save my sorry ass. Doesn't matter that out of every woman on this planet, she was the only one I ever…"

Dean stood there, breathing in deeply. Suddenly, he spun and picked up a screwdriver, throwing it across the yard. It struck a battered truck with a dead, hollow thump.

He kept his back to Sam. "It doesn't matter whose fault it was. She's gone, and I never had the guts to say –" he sighed. "Go away, Sam."

It was clear then to Sam that Dean hadn't just been in love with Jo Harvelle.

When Jess died, his future had been torn apart because all he could ever see in his life was _Jess._ Sam had imagined a wedding, had even dared at times to picture children running around their apartment with her beautiful blonde hair and his eyes. Growing old meant he was with her, aging together.

And although he hadn't realized before what Dean was feeling, he could see clearly now that Jo was the same. Stranger still, he could imagine what their children would have looked like.

Perhaps it was a Winchester curse, to love women fated to die.

Sam knew there was nothing else to say, so he turned and walked back inside, shoving his hands in is pockets.

Bobby was at the fireplace, staring into the ashes that once were a photograph of six soldiers in a war most people didn't know existed.

"I never told you boys this," the old man said gruffly. "But me 'n Ellen, we kept in contact ever since the Devil's Gate in Wyoming. She'd call me up and say how things were with Jo, ask me about you two. She was a real friend to me."

Instinct told Sam to say nothing.

"When I got in this chair, I thought things would change with her." Bobby laughed hollowly. "Ellen came 'round herself to smack me on the head."

"I hate this," Sam muttered. "Everyone we care about seems to die."

"Do you see me going anywhere?"

"No," he whispered. Everything seemed to be falling apart, like a tapestry slowly unraveling. At age twenty-one, Sam Winchester knew what would become of him. He knew that in four years he could easily be a lawyer, married to the woman he loved. Perhaps his father would come to the wedding; then again, perhaps not. Dean would most certainly have been there.

At age twenty-seven, all he had _was_ his brother (if Dean wasn't too destroyed by now), a man he sometimes felt was his father, and an angel without any comprehension of humanity. He was a hunter, something his eighteen-year-old self had sworn off, and the world was going to end by his hand.

The things he had done were not activities of a lawyer.

Well, not the kind he wanted to be, anyway.

Sam started as the door slammed open, and then shut behind him. He and Bobby turned to look at Dean.

The ticking bomb was coming dangerously close to exploding. "Stop looking at me like I'm about to go crazy," demanded Dean. He headed into the kitchen.

"We're not looking at you like anything," Sam said hesitantly. "But we _are_ worried about you."

"Don't be," he said, coming back out with a beer in his hand. "I'm going for a drive."

Before either of them could protest, Dean had grabbed the keys to the Impala and stormed back out the door. As Sam heard the engine start with a groan, he feared for his brother and what he might do now. Perhaps Dean would move on, but he remembered the last time someone Dean cared for had died – himself.

The tires screeched a little as the car pulled away.

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There was something missing inside his chest. The hellhound that had ripped Jo's guts from her body had taken a chunk of him as well.

Dean pulled over, resting his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment. _What am I supposed to do, Jo?_ He asked her, as though she was sitting next to him, just out of sight.

Even though he wasn't expecting answer, an insane part of him held still, his ears straining for sound. The minutes passed, and the cold air of winter started cutting through the alcohol he'd been consuming throughout the day.

After everything, this was the moment Dean finally snapped.

He got out of the car and went to the trunk, pulling out a small cloth bag and went through everything he would need.

The last thing he shoved inside was a picture of him and Jo.

"_I'm not going to take a picture with you," she argued, cleaning a glass at the bar._

"_What's one measly photo going to do?" persuaded Dean._

_Jo pursed her lips, giving him the stare that made him a little bit uncomfortable. She seemed to get him in a way that scared him, because after all these years of trying to cover up Dean Winchester this woman he'd only met a few weeks ago had him pinned down pretty well._

_Pinned better than he expected, apparently. "Well, it could do a lot of things on those cold, lonely nights," she teased with her eyebrows raised._

"_I resent that," he said. "My nights are rarely lonely."_

_When she laughed, Dean noticed that her teeth were a little crooked. He found himself smiling a little at this, at yet another quirk she possessed._

"_Alright then," sighed Jo, still grinning. "Take your damn picture." She came around the bar to join him._

"_Knew you'd come around," he joked._

_She let out a fresh peal of laughter as Dean lifted up his camera and snapped their photo, Jo placing a hand lightly on his chest._

His fingers shook slightly as he placed the tiny photo, cut out from a printed piece of paper, inside the pouch. As an afterthought, he grabbed the Colt.

And then, squaring his jaw firmly, Dean went to the middle of the crossroads and started digging at the frozen earth with his bare hands. The icy dirt bit at his hands, but he didn't care. The answers were all he cared about now, the only thing he wanted.

Dean dumped the little bag into the hole he'd created and covered it up with the dirt. His hands were losing feeling with every passing moment, and when he stood up he shoved them in his pockets. Dead silence filled the air, somehow loud in its emptiness.

"Dean Winchester," a female voice said to his right.

He turned. "I want to see Crowley," he told her flatly.

The crossroads demon smirked, her red eyes flashing. "Crowley's busy at the moment," she began. "But I'd love to-"

"I don't think you understand," he said, reaching one hand to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out the Colt. "I want to see Crowley, bitch."

"You wouldn't shoot me," the demon said, nevertheless sounding worried. "You're saving your bullets."

"Yeah, turns out this gun don't work on your daddy," said Dean. He kept his voice low so it wouldn't crack. "So I could just fire away now. I could care less either way, but then I'd have to make a new present for your coworker. It's easier for all of us if you just go and get Crowley for me."

For a moment, it looked as though the demon was going to stay put, but then she vanished.

Dean kept the gun out. His skepticism of the "helpful" demon had been reduced to intense dislike. Any trust he might have given to Crowley had failed with the bullet he'd put in Lucifer.

"Look, it's Mr. Incompetent himself," came a voice behind him, in all its British glory.

"I'm not the one who screwed up," Dean said angrily, swinging to point the gun at him. "I planted a bullet straight into that bastard's face."

"You sure about that?" asked Crowley, glaring at him.

"I saw Lucifer hit the ground. He had a bullet in his head. But _someone_ forgot to mention that he's one of five beings that the Colt can't whack." He took a step towards the demon. "Care to explain?"

Crowley sighed, his shoulders visibly slacking. "I don't understand," he said. "I shot an angel with that gun not three weeks ago."

Something in the demon's demeanor made Dean tuck the gun back in his jacket. "Lucifer's an archangel."

"That would make sense, since there's five archangels altogether," the demon mused. "I suppose only an angel sword can kill him, then."

"Five archangels?" he asked, frowning. "I've only heard of four."

"Definitely five," said Crowley. He took out a hand and counted down on his fingers. "Michael, Seraphiel, Gabriel, Raphael, and Sataniel."

"Seraphiel?" The name Sataniel he could figure out on his own, but out of all the lore he'd read up on angels the other name escaped him.

The demon shrugged. "I don't know too much about her, only that she doesn't deal with humans, not like the rest of the archangels. But if you can't kill archangels with the Colt, then we've got a bigger problem on our hands than your idiocy."

Dean glared at him. "I gave up more than you can imagine to aim that gun at his head."

"You mean your girlfriend?"

He pulled out the Colt again and shoved the muzzle against the demon's temple. "Don't you dare talk about her."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I caught her image from your voodoo bag, chum. I guess you want her back, don't you?"

"Can you do it?" his voice broke at last, but Dean ignored the urge to shed a tear.

A look close to sympathy transformed the demon's face. "I wish I could, mate. But after someone's been blown to bits like that… well, I'm only a crossroads demon. What you need is an angel to bring her back to life, and I'm certain the only one you've got on your side doesn't have it in him anymore."

The kindness in his words crushed the little bit of hope Dean had to bring Jo and Ellen back.

He lowered his arm slowly, and put his free hand to his head. "I've given up everything for this war," he hissed. "Why them?"

"Don't ask me," said Crowley. "I'm not the big guy upstairs. And while we're on the subject, is your angel friend doing anything to find God? Or is he still loafing around with you lot? Because I'd take God over my dad any day."

"He's working on it," Dean said stiffly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a big world and I'm sure the Almighty's pretty good at hiding in his own playground."

"Well, tell him from me to get a move on," the demon huffed. "You know it's the Apocalypse when a demon's anxious to find God."

Dean stared at him for a moment, trying to get his bearings straight. The last time a Winchester had trusted a demon, Lucifer broke out of his cage. Trusting Crowley was not only indulging in hypocrisy, but it was also extremely dangerous.

But he had to know things, and an underworld contact was only logical. He didn't need to trust the demon, just work with him.

And there was a certain piece of information he was especially interested in. "Can you tell me where Meg is?"

Crowley frowned in confusion. "Meg?"

"The demon who calls herself Meg," Dean said. "The one that was with Satan. The one that attacked us in Carthage and set the hellhounds on us."

"Oh, you mean Lauviah," he clarified. "Funny, I never took that one for using human names."

"Do you know where she is?" Dean repeated.

"Hmm…" Crowley touched the side of his head, zoning out. A minute later he blinked and looked back up at Dean. "She's definitely on earth right now, so I can't sense her. But I'll keep an ear to the ground, if you like. What do you need her for?"

He gazed stonily past the demon, into the memory of Jo taking down the hellhound for him and getting torn to shreds. "Revenge."

"Are you stupid?"

Dean snapped his eyes back to Crowley. "Sometimes. But Meg's messed with people I care about for too long. This ends now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes."

The words sounded eerily familiar.

"I'll let you know if I get any information," Crowley said.

"And if I need to find you?" he asked. "I can't go out and bury something at the crossroads and hope I get you on the first try."

The demon nodded slowly, thinking. "I got something." He pulled out a piece of paper that looked something like a business card, but had an unearthly glow to it. He handed it to Dean, who stared at it, puzzled. "A drop or two of your blood and I'll come as soon as possible."

Dean grimaced. "I'm getting tired of your self-mutilation shit," he complained, looking at the paper in his hand with distaste.

"That's just how it works," said Crowley, shrugging. "I didn't invent it. And it's got better coverage than a cell phone."

He nodded, and turned away. There was no need for discussion.

The Impala was always a safe place for him to be. People (Sam) always made fun of him for being so attached to a car, but after everything he had been through with his baby he couldn't help but to love it.

After everything, after only a few nights back when Jo and Ellen were doing shots with Castiel (a pointless exercise), after Jo had playfully teased him and turned him down, after thinking that night he would finally have the sack to tell her what he wanted once this was over… Dean couldn't go back to Bobby's.

So instead, he started his car and drove in the opposite direction.

There was a town not too far away, and a bar. It was a safe haven and he would take it.

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Castiel was not …comfortable with these human emotions. They kept appearing and he didn't know how to make it stop.

He suspected it was directly related to his resurrection. The body he inhabited, Jimmy Novak, had ceased to be a vessel and was now entirely his. Therefore he felt more human and vulnerable than he would have suspected possible.

Fortunately his angel nature countered some of this erratic function. But it didn't dismiss the things he'd learned while staying with the Winchesters.

Castiel was almost entirely sure he loved Dean.

Not in the way that Jo Harvelle had loved him, with the messy romantic complications, and neither in the fashion his brother did.

However, the angel found himself wanting to follow the human he'd pulled from hell with a fierce loyalty only matched by his allegiance to God. Castiel would lay down his life, again, for Dean, and would go to great lengths to protect him from harm.

Even if that harm was Dean himself, the reason Castiel was entering this raucous den.

The hunter was sitting on a stool at the bar, a glass held studiously in his hand.

Castiel made his way over and took a seat next to his friend, saying "Your brother and Bobby are worried about you."

"I bet they are," muttered Dean.

"Why are you here?" he asked, frowning. "There's alcohol back at the house."

"Cas, half of the reason why people go to a bar has nothing to do with drinking," the hunter said irritably. "Now, if you wouldn't mind –"

"I do mind," he interrupted. "Your actions are …unfathomable to me at the moment."

Dean scoffed and downed the rest of his drink, putting the glass on the bar lightly. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm a little fucked up right now, because two more people that I cared about bit the dust. Maybe your heavenly ways can't comprehend grieving, but I could use a few hours by myself."

Castiel understood his friend had no comprehension of the metamorphosis he was undergoing, but a painful sting shot through his stomach. "Mourning is not an alien concept to me, Dean. Don't think my chest doesn't hurt, in a _strange_ way, when I think of Jo and Ellen. But death is a natural part of life. I regret their passing, but I accept they aren't coming back."

The words didn't seem to reassure. "So, what am I, if death is a natural part of life?"

He sighed. "Dean –"

"Look, I know this isn't your usual shtick, but when humans know people, and create connections –" Dean paused and closed his eyes for a moment. Castiel hoped it was in prayer but wasn't too expectant. "It hurts the better you know them."

"I understand –" he tried to say.

His friend pointed a finger at him. "What would you do if it was me that got blown up?"

Again, Castiel had to marvel at the strength of emotions. He felt his lungs contract and air was difficult to obtain. The pain in his chest increased considerably, and he gripped the bar for support. He did not want to imagine the loss of Dean any longer if this reaction was to be expected.

Even though Dean possessed a snowflake's chance in hell, Castiel had never imagined that his friend would actually die.

"I dislike the topic," he said gruffly.

"See?" Dean gestured for the bartender to refill his glass, and took a drink before he continued. "We all have our things, Cas. Bobby relives every damn memory he has. Sam talks about his feelings; it's disgusting. This is what I do."

"I'll sit here until you need me," offered Castiel, unsure of what else to do. He had watched that television program with the balding man a week or so ago in an attempt to procure means of showing sympathy. All he had learned was to confront others head on, and Dean seemed to revile that approach.

His friend looked at him curiously. "How did you know I was here, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Sam did something funny with the computer," he answered. "Your phone told us."

Dean blinked. "My _phone_ told you?"

"Yes."

Obviously Dean found this unusual, but didn't comment further.

They sat in silence together. Castiel thought back to his first few interactions with Dean. The hunter hadn't trusted him at all, had no faith in the Lord. Despite his ways, Castiel had found him intriguing. And when Dean spoke to him about things in his heart, a tenderness the angel did not understand had taken root.

Against all odds (and even some abrasiveness from Dean himself), Castiel had grown fond of this human.

Every time Dean was in agony, it tore at him a little. Like right now.

Castiel didn't set much store by time, but he watched the clock and knew it was an hour that he sat with his friend. At long last, Dean stood up and pulled out his wallet. It was apparent that he was drunk, and Castiel resigned himself to helping the hunter out.

"Why are you still here, Cas?" Dean asked, squinting at him blearily.

"Because I'll follow you anywhere," he answered honestly. He took Dean's arm and walked him out to the Impala.

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(Author's Note): I would like to reiterate (if I didn't make it clear in the chapter) that Cas is _not_ in love with Dean. He loves Dean, and he's also an angel who doesn't have the typical male reserved-ness about that sort of pure, unromantic devotion. No slash in this story.

Please Review ^_^


	3. Two: Vendetta

Disclaimer: I am a devoted servant of the Great Kripke and would never, _ever _steal anything he's ever created. I'm just having a little bit of fun.

(Author's Note): I do apologize. For some reason, the third chapter of every story for me is something of a stumbling block. But all of your (many) reviews have been absolutely inspirational, and I can't say thank you enough. Honestly, I'm in love with this fandom, and you all rock.

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Tehiyyat ha-Metim

Chapter Two: Vendetta

Dean heard the thundering steps in the hallway before Sam even started banging on his door. He groaned and covered his ears.

"Dammit, Sam! Can you keep it down?" he yelled.

"I don't know Dean, can you get the demons out of the living room?" his brother snapped back.

For some reason, this sounded extremely odd. Dean peeled himself out of bed and stood up, touching the wall for support. He rubbed his forehead blearily. It felt as though he were moving through molasses as he bent to grab his shirt and pulled it on.

And his fucking headache would not go away.

Wincing at the creaking door (he really needed to find some WD-40 for this sucker), Dean stepped out into the hallway and was met with Sam's angry face.

"What the hell, Sammy?" Dean grumbled.

"Crowley's in our living room," his brother said. The guy could do a fantastic miffed attitude if given the opportunity. "With another demon in the Key of Solomon. You better start explaining, Dean, and you better start now."

He batted his hand in the general direction of Sam, squeezing his eyes shut against the noise. "Nobody's doing nothing until I get my hangover remedy," he said.

"It's downstairs."

Of course it was downstairs. Dean shoved past his brother and made his way down, holding his forehead in one hand with each creaky step. After the Apocalypse was over, he thought idly, they should really get on with fixing up this house.

As Dean passed through the living room into the kitchen, he saw two people standing and two sitting. Two more than he expected in Bobby's home, plus Sam boring holes into the back of his head.

Not that any of the information in front of him was of prominent observation. He waved a hand haphazardly in the direction of the congregated people and trudged into the kitchen.

Dean picked up the glass of Bobby's fool-proof hangover remedy, nearly gagging on the putrid taste. He drained it and dumped the glass in the sink with a grimace. Ignoring the aftertaste on his tongue, Dean turned around and started to head back into the living room only to run into Crowley.

"Didn't I just see you last night?" he snapped at the demon.

"I found a rather… pliable source," Crowley said evenly. "He's willing to take you to Lauviah."

"Oh yeah?" Dean stepped closer, staring the other down. "Define willing."

The demon gave a half-smirk. "Well, he knows. I'm sure you've got means of extracting information."

It was undeniably clear that Crowley was referring to Dean's knowledge of torture. The idea was tempting, and disturbingly so. The blood boiling in his veins, however tempered by sleep and fading drunkenness, called for any measures necessary to eliminate Meg. If the best option to complete that task was through torture, he found little wrong with it.

Which was the disturbing part. Every bone in his body was engraved with (besides Enochian sigils) a sense of right and wrong and where the line stood.

Yet that line could distort given the proper circumstances, and presenting Dean with a path to Jo and Ellen's killer blurred his ideals.

Dean brushed off his doubts and shoved past Crowley into the living room, where Sam, Bobby, and Castiel were waiting for him impatiently. Strapped to a chair was a demon wearing a woman in her twenties, a sort of mousy looking girl.

Her hateful black eyes glaring up at Dean did not belong with this body, and for a moment Dean was entirely reminded of the human inside. But then the demon spoke, and all of his compassion drained away.

"Heard Lauviah ganked your friends," she said, smirking. "Another one bites the dust, huh, Dean?"

"Why don't you start talking before this gets ugly," he suggested quietly.

Ever since his time in hell, Dean had learned the difference between soft and violent rage. Violence, while effective, had less value as a scare tactic and thus didn't earn as much respect. The emotion behind the anger proved there was a human within all the ferocity and made the tormentor accessible, relatable.

With cold, apathetic fury there was no humanity to appeal to, and it scared even demons.

But it didn't mean they showed it. "What gets ugly? Oh, you mean these lovely little ropes on my arms and legs."

"Hey," Dean said, leaning in with a small smirk, "We've got tons of salt and holy water. And I'm creative."

"Dean –" he heard Cas start behind him.

"I'm not talking about a little discomfort," he whispered, cutting the angel off. Dean put his face right in front of the demon's, a smile on his face. "You're going to tell me where 'Lauviah' is, or I'll plug your body with holy water and shove salt up your ass."

Her eyes widened slightly as she caught on – he wasn't fucking around.

Trembling, the demon tried to regain control of the situation. "Your girlfriend's burning in hell," she said, her quivers undermining the impact. "They put her on the rack."

Dean felt his blood boil a little. "Doesn't matter what you say to me, bitch," he told her calmly. "It's gonna hurt just the same until you give me what I want to know."

She looked straight into his eyes, the black burning furiously. "No," she hissed.

"Fine," he said, and stood straight back up.

"Are you bloody insane?" Crowley demanded. "You're taking no for an answer? After all the trouble I went through to get you that one?"

"Relax, man," Dean said, heading over to the cabinet in the corner. He opened the doors and saw a little black dress bundled in the corner. For a moment, his breath was knocked away.

"_Are we ready to go?" he heard Jo ask from behind him._

_Dean rolled his eyes, snapping the clip into his gun and turning around and saying, "That depends if you're –" he trailed off, looking at her._

_Usually clad in jeans and a t-shirt, sometimes a jacket, Jo had always been attractive but in a tomboy fashion. Obviously living on the road didn't allow much time for dress-up and fashion. But seeing her standing in front of him, all clingy fabric and exposed skin… well, she seemed to be more womanly than he'd considered before._

_In fact, this was the first time he'd ever seen her as feminine. Dean had refrained from hitting on her before because he (strangely enough) found himself enjoying her rough-and-tumble company, and suddenly she was a classy sort of chick that even held herself differently._

"_Close your mouth," she instructed, and Dean was startled back into reality. He noticed that she had a slight blush, but was either ignoring it or trying to hide it with her hair._

"_I think we're ready," he said faintly._

_Jo laughed softly. "See something you like, princess?"_

_Oh, hell yes. "You'll knock 'em dead," Dean joked. "And I don't just mean with that knife."_

With an act of pure will, Dean wrenched his head away from the past and reoriented with the current moment. He was going to find Jo's killer. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a vial of holy water, and a syringe.

As he turned around, Dean caught Sam's expression out of the corner of his eye, and saw the horror etched in every line. Not that it mattered, really, because he was going to get his answers. Dean measured about 50 ccs of the water and checked the needle before heading back over to the captive.

"Tell me where Lauviah is," he said quietly.

"Fuck you," she spat, struggling against her bonds.

He laughed quietly. "Have it your way," he said, and injected the holy water.

The demon screamed, a terrible scream that was no stranger to his or Crowley's ears, but to the others Dean was sure they'd never heard such a sound. She thrashed in the chair, the noise nearly unbearable, sweating with the internal agony.

Without even pausing for sympathy or respite, Dean grabbed some salt from the table and shoved it down her open throat, gagging her. The demon started coughing violently, unable to breathe. Tears started leaking out her eyes and the skin where the drops traveled steamed slightly.

"Talk," Dean advised lightly, as though he were suggesting the use of an umbrella in the rain.

"Stop," whimpered the demon. Her voice was scratchy and laced with agony.

"I'll stop if you tell me what I need to know," he promised.

But she made no sign of wanting to reveal anything, and Dean sighed, re-filling the syringe and injecting her with holy water once more.

Now the shrieks were even louder, and he moved to the cabinet to find an iron knife. He was fairly sure Jo had left her pig sticker in the cabinet, and the twisted justice would work in his favor. But when he found the handle and turned back around, the screaming had stopped and the demon was slumped over, obviously unconscious.

He shrugged and went over to cut her arm, but found his wrist getting yanked away.

It was Crowley, of all people.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Crowley yelled, a vein popping out in his neck.

"I'm trying to get results!" Dean snapped, wrenching his arm away and taking a step back.

"No, you're trying to bring your girl back!" said the demon angrily. "Do you really think torturing her now is going to do any good? If I can't do anything, then you're wasting your time! I'm _not_ going to get another demon for you after I put myself on the line to snatch you this one."

Dean wanted to hit Crowley, but knew it could cost him his ally and (unfortunately) the demon was right. He let a deep breath out, slowly.

"I'll come back later," he promised the demon in the chair. "Let's hope you're ready to talk."

She didn't move, but at least she was breathing. He threw the knife at her feet, knowing that if she picked it up in an attempt to cut loose it would cause her unbearable pain.

He turned to Crowley. "This is your fault," he snarled. "If you had enough power to bring them back, we wouldn't have to waste our time with this filth."

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Everything Sam knew about Dean had vanished within moments, leaving a cold, cruel man with vicious methods. For the first time, he understood why his brother had been so repulsed by his demon powers – there was a touch of evil in every action.

Dean had always been the good one, the guy who took orders or gave them, who looked out for everyone else and did the right thing about 90% of the time.

This ravaged man was not his brother, and it sickened him to see it happen.

"This is all your fault," Dean snarled at Crowley, his face contorted in rage. "If you had enough power to bring them back, we wouldn't have to waste our time with this filth."

The words burned in Sam's ears. "What?" he snapped at the two.

Both turned to look at him, an almost sheepish expression on the demon's face.

"Dean, kitchen." When his brother didn't move, Sam used all of his extra height to force his point. "Now."

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved past the lot of them, and Sam followed. "Alright, Sammy," he said, turning around. "What's so fucking-"

Sam grabbed the collar of Dean's shirt, the fabric fisted in his large hands. He'd never felt so furious in his life, not even when his body was addicted to the power of demon blood. His brothers' eyes widened slightly as Sam slammed him against the wall.

"Are you out of your mind?" he seethed. "Offering up your soul to Crowley?"

"Put me down, Sam!" Dean yelled.

"No!" his chest was heaving, the adrenaline rush making his heart pound. "No, Dean! You've traded your soul once already, and I'm not going to lose you again like that!"

Dean reached up to pry Sam's fingers from his shirt, but he didn't budge. "I didn't try to make a deal, I asked if it could be done!"

"And if it could?"

His brother didn't answer him, and the silence said everything.

Sam leaned in, red swimming before his sight. "How can you be so selfish?" he hissed. "I won't go through it again, Dean, I won't! You know how it feels; you've done it to me once already and if you think Jo wants to live knowing you'll burn in hell again-"

"It doesn't matter, Sam!" said Dean, shoving him away. "He can't do it!"

"You'd better pray to God it stays that way," he threatened, and turned on his heel.

Sam stomped out of the house and stormed into the yard, kicking an empty water pail near his path. All he could see, over and over again in his head, was Dean getting ripped to shreds by the hellhound, the ones Lilith had set on him. the screams and the blood were impossible to erase from his memory.

The moments where he'd held Dean in his arms after the life had left his body, though; those memories were the ones he still dreamt about, the ones he woke up in a panic from with sweat pouring out of his skin.

Never again.

Someday, perhaps sometimes soon, they would die, but Sam would rather burn in hell a thousand years before going through the hell of losing Dean like that again.

He laced his fingers through his hair and gripped tight. The pain in his skull cut through the rage and returned his senses to something like order.

Two things remained with stark clarity. The first was Dean would not rest until Meg (or Lauviah, as she was apparently named) was permanently dead. The second was that Sam could not leave his brother alone with a clear conscience.

So although he knew the path of revenge was dangerous in more ways than one, Sam knew he would help Dean find the demon who had done so much to their family.

Under normal circumstances, Bobby would have followed him out here by now. They would discuss the pain of losing Dean, how hollow the both of them had felt, the raging guilt inside Sam that drove him to a perpetual state of drunkenness and vengeance.

The reason why he had turned to Ruby for help and understanding pivoted on that guilt. Because if he couldn't save his brother, what kind of a monster was he? And why shouldn't he be with other monsters? And Ruby had seemed so different from all the other demons…

Everything he'd done wrong, it seemed, all had echoes of Dean in one form or another. For the first time Sam wondered if he was too connected to his brother, too enmeshed.

Not that it excused his actions. Far from it, really. But he had to think if sticking by Dean was the wisest choice.

And then, considering the alternative of the two of them striking out on their own, Sam erased his doubts. Without Dean watching his back (and vice versa) it was too much of a risk, especially knowing something would happen in Detroit in six months.

No, even if it was stupid to stick around with Dean, he'd do it. It wasn't as though he wanted Meg any less dead.

Sam sighed and turned back towards the house, knowing he and Dean would just avoid talking to each other for a while. His brother teased him about being a girl and talking about his feelings, but considering the drunken alternative he'd rather pour his heart out like a goddamn Twilight fan girl than go down that road.

Inside, the demon was still tied up, awake now and shaking.

He felt a stab of pity for the creature, against all odds. Hastily, Sam reminded himself that he couldn't go around sympathizing with every demon he or his brother came into contact with. That was the trouble he started with Ruby, and look how that ended.

Instead, he headed into the kitchen, where he found Castiel looking intently out the window. At what was anyone's guess.

"Are you alright?" he asked the angel uncertainly.

First and foremost, Sam knew that Cas was Dean's angel, and Dean's friend, not his. It had never been easy for the two of them to get along, but they managed, he supposed.

"I am worried," said Cas, not turning around.

"About Dean torturing or about his vendetta?"

"Both are unsettling," he admitted. "I have seen him driven before, but not so desperately. When you walked away he was very lonely, but…" he shrugged.

The topic of his and Dean's separation irked Sam; he didn't like thinking about how he walked out on his family and although it may have done something in the long run, the distance had only made it harder for their minds to sync like they used to.

"When dad died, he was like this, only this is different," Sam offered. "I mean, he hadn't gone to hell so he was a lot more… crazy."

"I suppose we can assume his time in perdition has made everything less painful," Cas said. He finally turned away from the window and met Sam's eyes.

Sam didn't like it when Castiel looked into him. Something about the angel's gaze (perhaps as a general rule of thumb) made him feel like someone was ripping a scab off a very tender wound in his stomach somewhere, on some internal organ. Coupled with the sensation of his brain getting examined under a Petri dish, it was far from a pleasurable experience.

He glanced away, clearing his head. "What are we going to do about it?"

"I can't stay."

"Cas -" Sam started.

"I've delayed too long already," insisted Cas. He took a step closer. "Now more than ever, it is _imperative _that we find my Father. Death is a powerful force on the side of Lucifer."

The facts were inarguable. He nodded. "Are you going to say goodbye to Dean?"

The angel looked confused. "Why should I do that?"

"Because…" it was a little awkward, telling an angel of the Lord about feelings and tact. "Because he'd probably want you to."

"He's never asked before."

Sam rolled his eyes and heard a fluttering of wings, and Castiel was gone. Not that it truly irked him, anyways.

Perhaps it was the demon blood in him that raged so intently against the angel's presence. He was physically bothered when Cas was around for too long, like a sort of itch in his chest that wouldn't go away. He liked Cas well enough, that wasn't the issue at hand.

Of course, the ironic thing was that Sam had faith, had prayed, and occasionally attended church, while Dean was the atheist/agnostic of the two. Fate was truly twisted.

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It went on for almost two days. Every few hours, Dean would approach their captive and ask her the location of Meg, and (with less and less conviction each time) the demon refused.

He varied his approach, sometimes cutting her lightly with Jo's iron knife and putting salt in the wounds, sometimes injecting holy water, sometimes performing half an exorcism only to pull back at the last second. Dean knew he could do a lot worse physically to the woman's body, but the back of his mind kept insisting to keep the person inside alive.

And it was a good thing he had the patience of years to temper the wait, because he could tell the demon would crack before long.

Each time Dean pulled out the syringe or the knife, he avoided Sam and Bobby's eyes. Perhaps shame did this, or a fear that they wouldn't understand him.

If Dean were fully aware of himself, he wouldn't understand what he was doing either.

When Zachariah had transported him into 2014 he'd gotten a real good look at what his life could be, and that road was the one he was traveling down. The justification that he had Sam now did little good, because Dean knew he wasn't listening to Sam's logic.

A vindictive part of his brain whispered that he was giving Sam exactly what he had received before. Dean didn't like that idea, and blocked it from his mind.

So he kept to his regiment, waking every few hours to check on the demon and ask her again for her information, and after exactly forty-three hours and sixteen minutes, she cracked.

"No! Please!" she screamed, shying away from the syringe. "I'll tell you! Stop! I'll tell you!"

Dean paused, the needle an inch away from her arm. The crook of her elbow was bruised and looked like a junkie's arm.

"Go on," he encouraged softly.

"Lauviah is…" tears streamed down her face, and the demon gulped. "She's routing forces for our Father in West Virginia."

"Not good enough," Dean said, shrugging. He moved to inject her once more.

"NO! Wait!" she yelled. "Wait, I can take you there! I can take you to where she is, I swear!"

He paused. The draw of an exact location, tempting as it was, clashed with the complications of transporting a captive demon without alerting any law enforcement or allowing her to escape. As Dean weighed the pros and cons of the situation, the only solution became unerringly clear.

In an instant, he grabbed Ruby's knife (the only useful thing to come of her) and plunged the blade straight up through the demon's skull. The strange orange light flickered, and she was dead. Just like that. No agonized wail, no gurgling on her own blood.

Dean pulled the knife out with some difficulty, the blood drying and sticky on the smoking metal.

Behind him, he could hear Sam thunder down the stairs. "What happened?" his little brother asked frantically.

"We got what we were looking for," Dean said, turning to face him. His whole body was tense, as if daring Sam to challenge his actions, or his authority. Most of the times they were equals, that was the arrangement, but they both knew that Dean was in charge if the situation ever arose.

Sam's face was horrified. "You killed her?" he whispered in a strangled voice.

"I had to, Sammy," Dean said, keeping his voice flat. "We couldn't take her with us and we couldn't keep her here."

"Dean, there was a person inside there!"

"Don't give me that," he snapped angrily. The abnormally short fuse he was carrying smoked at the end dangerously. "You've killed God knows how many innocent people to get to a demon, and for a lot less. You may not like it, but it was the only thing I could do."

It was like the moment in the hotel suite, the moment where Dean looked across to his brother and realized how far from humanity Sam was. He could see the same idea forming in Sam's head, questioning Dean, possibly fearing Dean as he had feared Sam.

His brother took a step forward. "What's happening to you?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing, Sam," Dean said, voice sharp. "I want this demon bitch dead. She got Dad kidnapped, she used you, she put Bobby in that wheelchair, and she killed… I'm done waiting for her to come to us."

"This isn't the way to do it," Sam insisted.

Dean was tired of talking. "We're leaving. Get your stuff together."

And he pushed past Sam, heading up the stairs. When he opened the door to his and Sam's room, he paused for a second.

Bobby's house, for whatever reason, had started out as a refuge and turned into something like a home. Dean never really had a home that he could reflect on, but he'd have to say it was a place where he felt comfortable enough to put his clothes in the dresser. Every time he left, it was back to living out of a duffel bag.

With a quick shake of his head, Dean shrugged off his sentimentality and grabbed his duffel, randomly shoving clothes and weapons inside.

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(Author's Note): I hope this was satisfactory for the long wait. After this, I assume the updates are going to be more consistent, or at least a little more frequent. What do you think of Dean in this chapter? Were any of you disappointed in him? Upset?

Please Review ^_^


	4. Three: Sabotage

Disclaimer: I am a devoted servant of the Great Kripke and would never, _ever _steal anything he's ever created. I'm just having a little bit of fun.

(Author's Note): This chapter is dedicated to **Shanynde**, who has my back and keeps me on my toes about updating. You rock, man.

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Tehiyyat ha-Metim

Chapter Three: Sabotage

The air was completely still. No people walking around town, talking and laughing happily. No lights on in the shops, or even a bar. No cars passing through the streets, save one.

Dean didn't understand. Clearly, the town wasn't abandoned because the lights were on in the houses, the porches muddy with footprints and bikes scattered across the lawns. But at six o'clock, as the light changed from orange to grey, and darker, not one person was outside.

He looked at Sam, who was clearly as puzzled as he.

"Do you think there's a curfew we don't know about?" Sam muttered, his eyes scanning the landscape.

"There wasn't the last time we came through here," Dean said. Hunter's instinct put his nerves on edge, his grip on the Impala wheel a little bit tighter.

It had been three days, nearing four, since he and Sam had left Bobby's. Three days, and the two brothers had barely spoken. Dean could tell Sam was angry with him (or was it fearful?), but they had an unspoken agreement to not discuss whatever was on his brother's mind.

Although driven, Dean was cautious of his surroundings now more than ever. He'd taken the I-90 up and above Iowa, completely bypassing Missouri although adding extra miles to their pathway. Then down the I-39 into Illinois, still avoiding Carthage like the plague but closer than he would like.

It was Sam's idea to stop here, in Downs, Illinois. Dean hated going through towns where they'd done a job, always wary of forgetting a story, slipping up just enough to get noticed. But the tension between the two brothers was near snapping point, and he didn't want to risk a fallout. Not now, when everything else was shot to hell.

So here they were, and something was completely wrong. It might be almost December, the snow soon to fall, but there were more than enough brave souls who ignored the biting cold and continued their lives, adding only a coat and perhaps gloves to their wardrobe.

This emptiness made no sense.

Dean took a left and drove toward the sign proclaiming St. Mary's Church. Now the light was almost completely gone, the dusk gathering.

He didn't know why, but as soon as Dean got out of the car he went to the trunk and pulled out the Colt, Ruby's knife, salt, and holy water. Sam was beside him, grabbing a rifle and rock salt ammo. Perhaps it was the Apocalypse that had them so tense, or simply the atmosphere.

Whatever it was, they closed the trunk and walked hurriedly up the steps to the oak front doors, locked.

Dean swore and pounded on the door loudly, and then again as the light in the sky was nearly gone.

Eternity seemed to stretch by as he and Sam waited for a response, but finally, it came.

"Who is it?" a familiar voice asked, tentative and scared beyond the door.

"Father Grayson?" he called.

"Yes," the voice answered, sounding worried. "What is it? Who are you?"

He exchanged a look with Sam. The fear in the priest's voice was unsettling, although not altogether a surprise. Something was wrong in Downs, and Dean felt an overwhelming urge to get inside and away from the dark.

"It's Sam and Dean Winchester," he answered, being completely straight. "We came through here a few years back, remember? Got rid of a poltergeist in your daughter's house?"

He prayed to God the priest would remember them, and then quickly amended his prayer. God wasn't available at the moment.

The door opened an inch, and concerned brown eyes (familiar ones) peered out at them, before Father Grayson opened the door wide enough to let them in. Dean motioned for Sam to go first, always ready to look out for his little brother even when they weren't speaking to each other. And then he followed, shutting the door quickly behind them.

Father Grayson padlocked the door, and turned with a weary relief on his face. "Thank the Lord you've come," he said. "I didn't know what to do, or how to call someone."

"God didn't have anything to do with it," Dean grunted. "We're tracking a demon and just happened to be passing through."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," the priest answered, unfazed.

That was the one thing Dean didn't like about religious men. Their beliefs didn't bother him, especially now since he learned that angels and God _were_ the genuine article, but that confidence that they were being taken care of always got under his skin.

So he refrained from saying that God was MIA, and looked around the church.

It was just as he'd left it, three years prior. Only, he was startled to realize, it had a good number of people inside, at least twenty. Mostly women, but a few men interspersed in the crowd, all sitting in the pews with sleeping bags and all looking at him and Sam with trepidation and confusion. Or rather, looking at their impromptu arsenal.

"What's with the halfway house?" he asked Father Grayson.

Sam kicked him as subtly as possible.

The priest led them up to the altar, explaining, "I'm not really sure what happened, what …caused it, but four days ago corpses started…" he paused and shuddered, looking close to nausea. "They've climbed out of their graves and started attacking people."

"Does this just happen at night?" Sam asked.

"I think they know – they don't seem very intelligent – they know somehow that the sun would damage them," Father Grayson said quietly. "We've started staying in at night, and the few people that had their homes invaded the first night are staying here."

Dean wanted to strangle someone. Preferably Meg, but she wasn't here. Which aggravated him further.

He wanted to wait out the night and jump in the car when dawn came; putting Downs in his rearview mirror and never look back. They could find another hunter to get rid of their problems. He wanted to find Meg and make her pay.

By now, Dean should have learned that he rarely got what he wanted.

He sighed and pulled out his phone. "Sam, I'm calling Cas," he said.

"Why?" asked his brother, looking from him to the priest. "Do you really think it's that big?"

"We're not that far away from Carthage," Dean reminded him. "Death could've come through here. You never know. I'd rather have Cas check it out than going out there half-cocked, if you catch my drift."

Sam hesitated, once more glancing at Father Grayson before nodding his consent. Dean flipped open his phone and speed-dialed the angel.

For one, painful moment, he was afraid Castiel wouldn't answer. And then his friend's gravelly voice answered him with a brusque "Yes?"

"Could you swing by Downs, Illinois?" Dean asked. It was really just a courtesy; he knew that if he asked the angel for anything he'd do it. "We've got a situation and I don't know what's happening at all."

"Where are you exactly?"

"St. Mary's Church. The priest here is Father Grayson."

Dean heard the phone click, heard the dial tone, and put his own away as a fluttering of wings behind him alerted him to Castiel's presence.

The church filled with worried mutterings and gasps of fear. Dean turned around and took in the (he had forgotten how much) comforting sight of his angel in that damn trench coat and suit, standing with a phone in his hand.

"There's a terrible presence beyond these walls," Cas said firmly.

He rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," he snapped. "From what the priest described, I think they're revenants, but you just can't be sure in this day and age."

Castiel nodded and walked up to Father Grayson, who looked altogether shell-shocked.

"Robert," the angel said gently. Dean blinked at this sudden soft demeanor. "You've served my father well. I realize it hasn't been easy keeping your faith, especially after your wife passed away, but the message you bring is a valuable one, especially now, during the End of Days."

"Wh-who are you?" Father Grayson asked, his voice shaking.

Dean winced and rubbed the back of neck.

"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel said, as though he was saying _hello, my name's Ben and I'll be your server tonight_. Great. More complications.

"Oh." The priest seemed to have little else to say.

"Did the corpses attack with a single minded purpose, or did they move at random?" the angel pressed. He repeated his question when Father Grayson didn't answer the first time, and the priest was brought back to the present moment.

"Er, I think it was random… no! I remember, they swarmed certain areas together," he answered.

Castiel turned to the brothers with a grim expression. "It's not revenants."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and pulled, bringing his breath to a steady rhythm. "Does it have to do with the Apocalypse?"

"Not exactly."

"Well?" Dean prompted, looking at his friend impatiently. "Are you going to tell us what we're dealing with here?"

"You don't have a word for it," Cas said, frowning. "But we're dealing with an ancient evil, almost as old as Lilith or Alistair. This demon controls the dead. Lucifer must have freed him when he released Death."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I killed both of them, didn't I?" he said. Dean turned and stared at his brother, whose face was full of self-loathing and regret. "Maybe I take this thing out. It's probably like riding a bike."

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Each word stuck like a knife in his throat, the idea clouding his brain and making him physically ill. Sam didn't want to go back to his demonic roots, he didn't want to feel the power and the addiction, and the bubbling rise of his blood each time he raised his hand to exorcise.

He didn't want it, but at the same time …he craved it desperately.

The look of disgust on Dean's face, and trepidation on Castiel's, nearly sent him over the edge.

"Look, if it makes a difference, I'll do it," Sam said firmly, refusing to back down.

"We have the Colt, Sam," his brother reminded him. "We've got Ruby's knife. And, in case you forgot, we've got our own angel on the sidelines."

"I don't have the power for exorcisms," said Castiel abruptly.

Sam felt his gut clench and he turned to the angel. But before he could express his shock, Dean startled him into silence.

"Why didn't you say anything Cas? How am I supposed to know if you'll be safe if you can't even perform an exorcism? It's not like you know how to use a gun or a rifle; what if you get hurt?" Dean looked like he was about to hit something.

And it struck Sam, just then, that Dean didn't care about many people. Him and Bobby, of course, and sometimes himself, but somehow the angel had made that list, and Dean cared about him more deeply than Sam could have imagined. Neither brother ever had a best friend, but maybe now Dean was starting to.

With this revelation came an unexpected jealousy. Not because Dean had a friend, but because he felt so …replaced.

"I'm fine, Dean," snapped Castiel. "I'm not completely useless."

Sam rubbed his forehead. "Okay, well, what are we going to do?"

The angel turned to him. "You aren't going to use your powers," he said firmly. "We don't know if you can, not without the demon blood. And Dean doesn't want you drinking demon blood again. I'll see if I can locate the source."

He blinked, and Castiel was gone.

Beside him, Dean let out a groan. "I didn't even give him the knife."

"Cas can take care of himself," Sam reminded his brother, trying to hide his frustration. He looked around the church, and started when he saw Father Grayson still standing quite close to them, looking shell-shocked. They'd completely forgotten about the priest in the heat of their conversation.

"What's going on?" the aging man asked.

"It's the end of days, Father," Dean said gruffly. "Try to keep up."

Sam shook his head at his brother's bluntness. Sometimes Dean seemed to forget that other people didn't know what was going on in the virtual underbelly of the world.

His brother shot him a look. "Sam, we have to talk."

He followed Dean over to the confessional, worried. If Dean had a plan of what to do here… maybe they could sit the night out and go about the job in the morning. It would be when they had the advantage. Hopefully his brother wouldn't be too rash.

Dean fidgeted before saying, "We shouldn't stay too long. Meg's trail might get cold."

It was as though someone had taken a baseball bat and slammed it into his stomach. A traitorous, painful sensation.

"Are you…" he couldn't even bring himself to say it, couldn't even fathom that his brother was so driven and focused on his vendetta against Meg that he would sacrifice innocent people. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?"

"I'm just trying to do the right thing," Dean snapped.

"No, you're being selfish," he growled. "You're acting like dad! Get your head on straight, Dean, these people need us."

He didn't want to look at Dean, his stomach reacting in nausea. Instead, Sam walked away and went to sit with some of the people in the pews.

A young couple, probably his age, were sitting very close together, huddled under a large woolen blanket. The woman's face was one of shock as Sam approached, her eyes flitting to his weaponry with more than a little trepidation.

"I'm not going to hurt you guys," he said as gently as possible; a struggle as he tried to ignore the problem that was Dean. "I'm here to help."

The man turned and gave him a look Sam had only seen once before, and only in the mirror.

"Can you tell me what happened?" asked Sam, sitting down in front of them.

"Um," the man said in a shaky voice. "My wife and I – Sarah, this is Sarah. I'm Jason. We… we got married three years ago, and had a baby seven months later. A baby girl. I didn't – I didn't marry Sarah because of the kid, we were already engaged when it came along.

"We had a beautiful baby girl, named her Kayla." Jason let out a hysterical, broken laugh that was closer to a sob. "Six months ago, she…" he gulped away tears and tried again. "Six months ago she…"

Sarah broke in. "She died of pneumonia. We were starting to move on from her death, thinking about conceiving another baby, and then two nights ago we saw her walking down the street. Only, she was… she looked like a zombie. And she… she started to attack us."

Jason whimpered. "We saw her eating a dog," he whispered in horror. "_Our_ dog. She brought others into the house and… and we can't go back."

Sam winced, unable to imagine the horror of their experience. He didn't feel any less nauseous after talking to the couple, almost wishing he hadn't asked them. but no, he reminded himself. It was good to ask. It was important to remember what the people on the outside went through.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," he murmured. "But I promise, my brother and I, we're not going to let that thing keep using your daughter's body."

"Is that your brother?" Sarah asked, pointing behind him.

Sam turned, and he saw Dean walking toward him. Castiel had, it seemed, returned and was beside him.

"We have a serious problem," growled the angel, coming to a stop. "The demon seems to know you two are here. The corpses are massing outside the church for an attack. I incapacitated a dozen or so, but there's still many of them."

He sighed. "So what do we do?"

"If we find people who know how to use guns, will rock salt work on them?" Dean asked.

"It will slow them down, perhaps momentarily immobilize them," said Castiel. "But if we find the central demon all of them will stop functioning, like a chain reaction."

Sam was completely lost. "What do you mean, central demon? There's more than the one?"

The angel shook his head. "It works something like… there's a trace of the demon in each of the bodies, but most of its essence is retained in a single body, probably the least decomposed. The demon uses that body to make decisions, to speak and direct the other corpses."

Sarah gave a little moan of anguish behind him.

"So, we get to the central demon, and… what? Use the Colt?" Dean shook his head. "How the hell would we find him, anyway?"

"I'll know him," assured Castiel.

"Excuse me?" Sam turned and looked at Jason in surprise. The blonde man cleared his throat. "I, er, know my way around a shotgun. If you need me."

Sam caught Dean's expression; it was the quietly contemplating one, where his brother was debating between two bad options. He didn't want to bring a civilian into the battle, but Dean was nothing if not practical and wouldn't want to waste the manpower.

"We do need you," Dean admitted at last. "Sam, could you walk him through… what he needs to know? I'll see who else I can wrangle up." He walked off, and Castiel watched him before turning back to Sam.

"Right, so, Jason," Sam said, avoiding the angel's stare. "What have you hunted?"

"Deer, mostly."

…Oh, no. Sam inwardly winced at the utter lack of experience the man in front of him had.

"Okay, um… that-that's a start," he fumbled. "I mean, you know how to use it, right? But shooting at people, or things that look like people, is a little different. I mean, you can't mistake them for humans, because they're not."

Jason nodded, but Sam knew the theory was always a little different than the practice.

He pulled out a couple of shells and held them up. "When we're fighting the supernatural, there are a few things that keep them at bay. Salt is one of them; that's why we have rock salt pellets. They're most effective on ghosts, but demons don't like salt either. Iron and salt are pure, so anything supernatural can't cross a line of salt or iron."

"So… why don't we put salt at the door?" asked Jason.

"Because we left ours in our car," Sam said dryly. "Some creatures also react to silver; revenants, shape-shifters, werewolves… demons aren't as effected, but it'll slow them down more than a regular knife." The man in front of him looked like he was about to faint. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"A lot to take in?" he repeated hysterically. "Is there anything else? Anything that keeps them away, or locked up?"

"Well, there's a devil's trap –" Sam froze and turned to Castiel. "A devil's trap! Cas, would that work?"

The angel looked intrigued. "I hadn't thought of it, but it is a possi-"

Sam's heart dropped as the door gave a loud, pounding shake, like thunder, and low guttural cries sounded outside the church. Beside him, Sarah let out a cry of terror and scrambled away. He grabbed the shotgun strapped to his back and pulled it off, thrusting it into Jason's hands carelessly.

"Guard the door!" he yelled. Sam turned and ran up the pew, grabbing Dean's arm. "A devil's trap, Dean! In front of the doors!"

Dean blinked, and turned to Father Grayson. "I need paint!" he snapped, commanding voice in full effect.

The priest paused, and then went behind the pew. Another bang against the door.

Sam watched as his brother calculated swiftly in his head. "Alright, everyone!" he called out, and all the people in the church turned to him. "I want you to go to the basement. Find iron, anything iron, and put it against the door."

One by one, he watched them scatter to the altar and past it. Jason ran up to him. "What should I do?" he asked, waving the shotgun.

"Keep them safe," Dean directed. "Anything gets past us, you shoot it. Now go!"

"I've got the paint!" Father Grayson said, passing Jason on his way down. He held in one hand a bucket of paint and in the other a few brushes. "I don't know what you need it for, though; I can't see what good it will do against –"

Sam grabbed the paint and dashed to the door, where he felt more than heard another shake and then the faint crack of splintering wood. Dean followed soon after and flicked open his pocketknife, popping the top of the paint can.

They each grabbed a paintbrush and started to work quickly. Sam could probably draw a devil's trap in his sleep, but his hand shook a little as another wave pounded against the door.

"What are you doing?" cried Father Grayson. "That's a mark of the devil!"

"Hardly," Castiel intoned. The angel waved his hand over the paint and a harsh wind blew over it, drying the symbol instantly. "It's a protection against evil spirits."

"Grab the knife, Sam," snapped Dean. They backed away from the door, Sam tucking the knife into his belt and pulling out a gun with iron rounds. Beside him, Dean loaded the Colt.

The door started to splinter and crack; Father Grayson let out a moan of terror.

And then, with an almighty bang, the wood gave through and Sam nearly gagged as a corpse missing an eye started trudging towards him. He lifted the gun and shot straight into the corpse's heart; the demon-zombie stopped and fell, its limbs separating in a sickening splatter.

Some of the following bodies got stuck in the devil's trap, but most of them were able to walk outside the lines. Sam called out to his brother the effect of the iron rounds, and pretty soon both of them were taking down the bodies.

And then Sam felt himself flying back towards the altar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean following a similar trajectory, slamming against the cross above the altar in some twisted imitation of Jesus.

"Hello, boys," a man's voice said, an earthy, rotting sound.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Dean tried to pull away from the cross, but he was fixed on it like a sacrifice. A man was walking towards him, bullet holes in his stomach and deathly pale.

"It's been a while, Dean," the demon said, crossing his arms. "It feels like years, doesn't it?"

"Great, another reunion," muttered Dean, straining. He saw Cas grab Father Grayson and pushed him towards the basement, before turning and using his power to rip the bodies apart. It was fascinating, in some disturbing way. A twinge of familiarity struck him; Dean had performed the same act in hell.

"Oh, you don't remember me?" said the corpse. "I used to visit you when Alistair was training you." His eyes rolled back and the color wasn't white, or black, or even yellow. It was orange and red, a fiery combination that spoke of hell and torment.

_The knife swung… a scream, only there were no lungs to scream with, they had been ripped out… his hand forced to rip out his eyes… a mocking smile and a laugh, and he laughed with it, he enjoyed it…_

And it hit him, all at once. "Nazeal," he gasped, a sweat breaking on his brow.

Nazeal smiled. "Oh, so you _do_ remember," he said with a smile. "I should have visited more often, I apologize…"

Suddenly, he turned and flung an arm, sending Castiel flying. Dean's stomach clenched. No demon should be able to throw an angel… unless Cas was weaker than he'd said, if he was reduced to something little more than human…

"An angel!" crowed Nazeal. "How perfect! And a lame duck angel, to boot. You rebelled, hmm?"

Castiel pulled himself out of the demon's psychic hold and grabbed the Colt off the floor, but the weapon flew out of his hand.

"Cas, get me down!" Sam yelled to Dean's right. Castiel waved a hand, and Sam came tumbling to the floor.

"What, no help for me?" snapped Dean, pushing against his restraints. He felt like a fucking martyr against the cross, his destiny laid out before him in a twisted prison. And Nazeal… he feared Nazeal almost as much as Alistair. Where Alistair was creative and patient, he was also strangely merciful. Nazeal had no understanding of anything, no compassion, no anything. He was brutal and completely ruthless.

"Stay there, Dean," growled the angel, backing away as Nazeal advanced.

"Okay, I'll just… be useful up here," he grumbled. "Not like I can _move_ or anything."

The demon grabbed Cas by the throat. "Maybe I should send you back to where you came from," he threatened. "They'd love to see you in Heaven, I'm sure."

Dean watched Sam sneak up behind Nazeal, Ruby's knife in hand. Sam plunged the knife into the demon's body, and Nazeal screamed, dropping Cas. The light shone from his body, but just like when Sam had stabbed Alistair, the effect was only painful.

Nazeal pulled out the knife and threw it to the ground, smoking.

"That little pig sticker doesn't work on me, Sammy," the demon said with a pant.

But with the stab, Dean noticed something; the corpses started to lose their advantage, started to fall. "Get him again, Sam!" he yelled.

The demon turned to him. "That's not very nice, Dean," he teased. Dean yelled in pain as Nazeal slashed against his arm with a flick of his finger; his arm started to bleed, and his mind traveled back to when Azazel, in his father's body, made his heart bleed like a fountain while he was helplessly pinned against the wall.

"I'll arrange something in hell to pay you back in hell," Nazeal said. "Once I drag you down there. They let me take over Alistair's job, you know. It's been _fun_."

And then, suddenly, the doors to the church blew all the way open, and a brilliant white light flooded his sight.

In the midst of everything, he heard Nazeal scream.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

(Author's Note): I apologize for the cliffhanger, and for the imminent delay. The next update will _not_ be a continuation of this little episode, but rather an interlude with our favorite blonde hunter. Yes, that's right, more Jo! And then I'm going to Montana for six days, no laptop. But, er, happy New Year!

Please Review ^_^


	5. Interlude

Disclaimer: I am a devoted servant of the Great Kripke and would never, _ever _steal anything he's ever created. I'm just having a little bit of fun.

(Author's Note): Hi, guys. I'm not going to apologize for the wait, but let's just say I had computer/internet issues, coupled with the fact that this interlude was sort of an ideal thing in my head. You know when something's just so perfect in your mind that you don't want to mess with it? That's what this was. Here's hoping I didn't bungle it.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Tehiyyat ha-Metim

Interlude

Jo had her hair tied back with a rag she'd found and shaken the dust out of. The basic clothes she wore were of military origins; a worn sports bra, a faded green t-shirt, sensible white panties, and carhartt pants. Her boots were a little big, and thus she wore two pairs of socks rather than one.

The room she had been cleaning for the past five hours (if she tracked the sun correctly) was to be her bedroom. It had been covered in filth, but it was the center of the camp and the place was ideal for command center.

As for her office, she had already cleaned it as best she could, considering the limited supplies.

Three more rooms remained in the cabin; a bathroom, another bedroom, and a private kitchen. The bathroom was infested with cockroaches, but it was a nice bathroom underneath all that. Rome wasn't built in a day and no one expected her to finish this monumental task on her own so quickly.

No one was there to expect it.

It had been a little over twenty-four hours since Gabriel had left her here in this abandoned base, the wooden cabins and empty tents little company.

She had slept in the cleanest bed she could find, which was just a disintegrating cot and a moldy blanket unraveled from the storage she'd discovered. The cold air had driven Jo to go searching for clothing, and the shelves of abandoned supplies had given her little hope.

So it was a chilly night, and it was the first opportunity presented to try out her new powers.

The way Gabriel had described it, the whole thing was truly about focus and intention.

Jo had imagined a cocoon of warmth surrounding her, had willed it with sheer determination and against all odds and expectation, the air had grown warm around her, like a little bubble to follow her every movements. And although the effort drained her a little, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Gabriel had told her that with time and practice, her abilities would strengthen. She possessed an extremely potent level of Grace, or "angel juice" as he paraphrased.

She didn't know why the angel had chosen _her_ to be the first, to be the one to lead the other resurrected angel-human hybrids. After being Everything, Jo could objectively see herself as inexperienced and soft, although much tougher than the average citizen.

He had said it was something to do with her awareness, but she didn't understand how that made any difference.

The facts still remained, however, that Jo Harvelle was now in charge of a semi-heavenly army, second-in-command to a powerful archangel, with powers no mortal human could dream of having. She would have to tough it out.

And now, she sat back on her heels and surveyed the floor with dissatisfaction.

Gabriel had told her that a town was not too far away, and if she should want for anything she could simply go there and money would appear in her pocket.

But Jo was reluctant to leave until her mother showed up, which was supposedly soon.

A large part of her feared what would become of her and Ellen, especially since Jo was now her "superior" and in control. Ordering one's mother around, especially when her mother was the leader in their past relationship, was a daunting idea.

Jo sighed and stood up, her knees cracking.

All she could do right now was clean, and that's what she would do. She made her way to the bed and grabbed all the sheets off the mattress. And then she grabbed the mattress and found that with her angel induced strength the normally hefty piece was barely a strain.

This was interesting. She tested it out, bouncing the mattress, throwing it up and catching it with ease.

It seemed that her muscles were either enhanced, or the supernatural power she had gained made it so the weight was indeterminable.

Each time Jo tried out a new ability, she was amazed by what her body (and mind) could do.

Finally, the time for play was over, and she carried the mattress out into the sunlight to air out. Jo left it propped against the wall of her cabin in the still air, and ventured back inside to grab the sheets.

These she took to the wash station, which consisted of a well, a scrub board, a brush, and a block of soap.

Jo bent down to grab the soap, and then paused. _What if…_ she focused intently on the block of soap first, imagining it rising in the air, and to her surprise, it did. Her alarm at this new development caused the bar to drop on the dusty ground.

If she could do it once, she could do it again, Jo reasoned.

This time, she pictured both the soap and the brush rising in the air. She raised both of her hands and moved them in a circular, scrubbing motion, and the two followed her motions. She watched it unfold before her, washing linens by hand without getting her hands wet.

Using magic.

She really was part angel, wasn't she?

For the first time that she could remember in her new life, Jo smiled. She smiled in complete awe and joy; it was impossible to describe how beautiful she felt then, how whole. And she realized then that her life before as she knew it was only a warm up. This was what she was meant to do.

Behind her, she heard a gasp of surprise. Jo turned and saw her mother, standing before her without a stitch on her body in complete shock.

The sheets and brush dropped into the well, caught by a net, and Jo flung herself forward to embrace her mother. "Mom, I was so worried," she whispered. "Gabriel took longer than I expected and I thought something had gone wrong…"

"I'm here, honey," Ellen said, stroking her daughter's sunshine colored hair. Her voice, Jo could tell, was shaking from distress and confusion. "I'm here… wherever here is."

Jo pulled away. "It's our new home," she said. "It's where we're all going to live now."

Her mother shook her head. "Who's 'we?'"

As they went to get Ellen some clothes, Jo explained what Gabriel had told her. From what she could understand, the angel had told her mother he had brought her back from the dead, and told Ellen to look for her daughter, but not to what end. That responsibility, it seemed, rested with Jo. And another thing was solely hers as well, she learned.

"So you don't remember… anything? Just pressing the button and then you were with Gabriel?" she asked again.

"I remember you, in my arms…" Ellen's voice broke as she pulled on a shirt over her sports bra. "And then I was in a field with this angel in front of me."

Jo didn't understand why she had been privileged to so much of death's experience when her mother, who had been dead longer than her, knew nothing of Everything. Was it something Gabriel had provided just for her? did it have something to do with her leadership position?

Perhaps it didn't matter. The angel would return; she would question him then.

"Does this place have a name?" her mother asked.

Jo smiled. "I think we'll call it Camp Lazarus," she said. "It fits, doesn't it? We're all people who are given a second life." She took her mother's hand and led her to the cabins in the middle of the camp. "That smaller one, right there, that's mine. The larger one next to it will be yours. I'm making you my second in command."

"I can't believe you're going to be in charge," Ellen mused. "It's such a big responsibility –"

"Cleopatra ruled Egypt and made treaties with Rome as a teenager," Jo reminded her. "I'm twenty seven. Besides, I learned from the best."

"Hush," her mother said with a smile. "Why do I get the bigger cabin if I'm second in command?"

"I thought I'd have all my commanding officers in one building," she said. "That way, I know where to find them, and they know where to find everyone else. I'm going to have one person in charge of combat training, one person in charge of magic, and one person in charge of camp affairs."

Ellen stepped back. "You've really thought this out, haven't you?" Jo nodded eagerly. "What about magic, though? I don't know how that works."

Jo held out her hand. "I'll teach you," she answered.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

The next person didn't arrive until four days later, when Jo and Ellen were emptying out the future mess hall. Jo's cabin was spotless and stocked; so was Ellen's beside it. Both of them had been into town twice, buying enough supplies for ten people to last the month.

The mess hall would seat up to one hundred once the benches were returned to inside; Jo wasn't sure how many people Gabriel would send her way.

As Jo directed sponges along the walls and Ellen moved a push broom, they heard a shout.

"Hello? Is anybody there?"

Jo paused her motions and looked at her mother curiously. The voice was undeniably male, and extremely panicked. With a frown, Jo gave a sweep of her arm and the sponges fell back into their respective buckets. She heard the push broom clatter upon meeting the floor.

Both women hurried outside, and saw a man stumbling towards them, nude as a newborn baby.

Jo took in every inch of him, the shaggy blonde hair, the tall, muscled frame, his determined (although confused) stride… this man was a soldier, she had no doubts. When he caught sight of Jo and Ellen, the man's forearms crossed over his genitalia protectively, and he came to a stop.

"Is one of you Joanna Harvelle?" he asked tentatively.

"I am," she answered, stepping forward. For a moment, she allowed herself to admire the beautiful tenor of his voice. "Gabriel sent you?"

The man blinked, still in a daze. "Yeah… I don't understand what's going on."

Jo turned to her mother and muttered, "Perhaps you could grab him some clothes." Ellen set off, winking at Jo for reasons she couldn't fathom. Returning to their new member she asked, "What's the last thing you remember before you saw Gabriel?"

"Umm…" the man ran a hand distractedly through his hair, and Jo worked hard to keep her eyes on his face. "I was in Iraq, and some guy – I think he was a terrorist – started firing on civilians, so I pulled the gun away from their direction and… I guess I got shot…" he looked down at his chest. "I don't have a mark on me. how is that possible?"

she offered a sympathetic smile. "You're looking at a girl who got her guts ripped out and then blew herself up to help her friends escape; I should be little pieces right now."

He stared at her, floored. "What's going on?"

Ellen came back just then, a bundle of fabrics in her arms with a pair of large boots dangling from her left hand by the shoestrings. "I wasn't sure what size you are, so I was liberal," she said, passing over the items.

The man fidgeted.

"Oh, don't be silly," Ellen snapped. "I'm a mother, I've seen it all."

Jo turned around in an effort to make him more comfortable. "What's your name, anyway?" she called over her shoulder. Although the man had approached them completely bare, she felt a prickle of blood rush to her cheeks as she thought of him dressing behind her.

"Tanner," he muttered. "Tanner Hartley."

"Where are you from, Tanner Hartley?" she asked.

"Born in Connecticut, moved to New Jersey when I was five. You can turn around now," he said. Jo appraised his attire; the pants were certainly too big, but the shirt fit fine. "Hey, how come you two have nice clothes?" he asked.

Jo and Ellen glanced at each other. "We went shopping for them a couple days ago," Ellen supplied. "One of us will take you tomorrow, unless someone else comes between now and then."

"Someone else?" asked Tanner, frowning. "What is this? Who are you?"

"You explain," Jo told her mother, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to finish cleaning the mess hall."

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

The next arrival was also male, but nothing like Tanner Hartley. He was an older man, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, named Grant Ellis. He came approximately twenty-eight hours after Tanner did, but without the confusion and fear.

He was a psychic.

"I always thought there were angels," Grant confessed as Jo shepherded him and Tanner through the isles of Target. "I mean, with all the evil in the world, there had to be something good to balance it. Shame I had to die in order to find out, though."

"Angels aren't all they're cracked up to be," she said. "I mean, my friend Castiel was alright, but most of them –"

"You were friends with an angel?" blurted Tanner before he could stop himself. An elderly woman paused and gave them a suspicious glare. He blushed. "Sorry, it's just… you don't heard stuff like that in the army."

Jo shrugged. "He's more like a friend of a friend," she muttered.

Grant held up a comfortable sweater. "So, you're a hunter?" he said conversationally. "Know anyone I might've crossed paths with?"

"Hmm…" she flipped through her internal file of names. "Probably a lot of them, if you've heard of Harvelle's Roadhouse."

"Of course I've heard of Harvelle's!" Grant said happily. "What a tragedy when the demons burnt it down. You mean to say you've been there a couple of times?"

She laughed. "My last name _is_ Harvelle," she told the psychic. "It was my mom's place. Who else, though… you know Rufus, don't you? and Bobby Singer?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Jo saw Tanner playing with a jacket with the universal face of exclusion. She felt sorry for him, thrust into this world without any connections, but it felt good to speak to someone on the inside of her life rather than an oblivious newcomer. Besides, Grant was easy to talk to.

"Yeah, I know Rufus," Grant said. "Bobby too; shame to hear about the wheelchair. But, hang on –" he frowned, scratching his head. "If your mom owned the Roadhouse then that means… you mean to tell me you're _Jo_ Harvelle? Jo _Harvelle?_ Bill's daughter?" She nodded.

Grant stood there, stunned. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, shaking his head. "I've heard good things about you, missy. I didn't know you'd died, though. I heard…" he lowered his voice and leaned in. "I heard you know the Winchesters?"

Her heart thumped wildly against her chest.

_Dean knelt before her, a look in his eyes parallel to a visitor on her deathbed. And this empty general store truly was her deathbed, she could feel her life fading._

_With a forced smile he placed the makeshift detonator in her hand and closed his palm over hers._

_For a second, neither of them moved. Of course Jo couldn't move at all, she was held in place by the threat of her stomach pouring onto the cheap linoleum if she shifted an inch. But Dean seemed frozen. And then, quite unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, his hand holding the back of her head warmly._

_What little blood still pumping through her veins lit on fire. This was what she'd dreamt of all those years ago at the Roadhouse, when she was still a dreamer._

_He pulled back and looked her in the eyes. Jo had no right to ask, she had no reason to expect it, but still she silently pleaded for him to let her go with something she could cling to in her dying moments. A pleasant ending, one they'd avoided trying every time they'd crossed paths._

_And he did. He put his hand to her cheek and kissed her tenderly, and oh so sweetly – she wasn't even sure this was Dean Winchester anymore; hardened, brazen Dean was never this gentle unless he was asleep._

_But, oh God, she felt every fiber of her being reach out to him, her dulling senses temporarily igniting to _feel_ this moment._

_In that kiss, no longer than five seconds, she felt everything Dean had never said to her. Everything they spent years avoiding was placed on the table, and nothing could ever dampen this moment, not even when she was about to die._

_When he released her and met her gaze once more, she didn't speak, but said "thank you" through her heart._

"I…" her voice shook, and Jo leaned against a shelf for support. "I died for them. I died for Dean Winchester."

It was the first time she'd said it aloud, admitted that she didn't die for the greater good, or for Sam _and_ Dean. She'd sacrificed herself before the bomb went off, and it was (as always) because of Dean, and only him.

Grant's face slackened in surprise. "My God," he breathed. "I saw it; I saw your memory just then." He pushed a hand over his eyes in a clumsy attempt to wipe the tears away. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Jo shook herself and stood up straight again. "No, it's alright," she said with a forced laugh. "After all, they _are_ the Winchesters."

"Who are the Winchesters?" Tanner asked, sounding thoroughly confused, and Jo detected a hint of loneliness.

"The Winchesters are the best hunters in America," Grant said before Jo could jump in. "It started with John, after his wife Mary died – though I hear Mary's parents were hunters too, and she was raised like one. Anyway, Dean was about four and Sam wasn't even one, and John Winchester took his boys on the road, hunting all sorts of things but especially the demon that killed his wife. And, well, Sam and Dean took up the work ever since they were little; they're amazing."

It was strange to hear her friends described in such a reverential way, but she could understand their mystic aura. Anyone who knew them could understand it.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Jo called a meeting with Ellen, Grant, and Tanner, and they sat in the newly cleaned kitchens area. A fire flickered in the grate, and the light was soft and warm while the wind howled outside in the night.

"It's been three days," she said. "Before anyone else comes, I want to make it clear that I only need three commanding officers."

Tanner raised his hand. "This isn't how the military works," he said hesitantly.

She glanced at him. "I don't care how the military works, because this isn't the military," she told him. "This is an army of angel-human hybrids designed by an archangel to fight demons and anything else Gabriel says. And since he put me in charge, I'm going to design the structure of it."

"Sorry," Tanner muttered.

"Don't be," Jo said. "I'm going to need you three to express your opinions. I may not always do what you say, but I'll listen to your advice."

"Who's assigned to what?" Grant asked. "Because I'm not exactly the commanding type."

Jo nodded. "I know, but you're possibly the greatest expert on magic we have," she said, smiling at him. "Tanner's a soldier, my mom's… well, she's a mom that owned a bar and hunted monsters. You're all experts in one area or another."

Ellen moved to put their newly purchased teapot on the stove and dragged their fresh, shiny mugs out.

The moment was perfect. "Mom, I want you in charge of camp affairs," Jo said with a smile. "You know how to take care of everyone, you know how to manage supplies. That's something I think you'd be perfect at."

Her mother frowned. "Jo, honey, the only person I've taken care of is you," she argued.

"Am I the only one who remembers Ash?" Jo shot back. "Anyone who could take care of him _and_ fifty drunk hunters every night can do anything."

To this, it seemed Ellen had nothing to say.

"Grant," she continued. "I want you to teach any newcomers we have about magic. We'll have them learn combative skills, maybe psychic abilities, I don't know. But you're an expert in the supernatural, and you're much more patient than I am. Tanner," she turned to the blonde who involuntarily straightened in response. "You're in charge of anything to do with fighting. I want you to teach people to fight, lead exercises, raids on demon strongholds, whatever Gabriel wants."

"I'm only used to military operations, I don't know what you'd want," Tanner said tentatively.

"I want you to do your best," Jo answered, looking into his eyes. She hadn't noticed before what a lovely hazel color they were, and so warm and eager to please her. Something fluttered in her stomach, but she shoved it away for another time.

He nodded, and the slightly confused expression he wore told Jo he had felt something similar to what she had just then.

The teapot began to whistle.

Jo cracked her neck, which earned her a scowl from her mother. "Our main priority right now is getting this place ready to live," she went on. "Right now, the main facilities are all clean. Mess hall, lavatories, kitchens, medical bay, supply room… we've covered all that. But people are going to need a place to sleep."

"Where should we put them if people come tomorrow?" Ellen asked anxiously.

"There's a spare bedroom in my cabin," Jo replied easily. "I thought we might have visitors from time to time. Gabriel said something about outside forces assisting us, and I wanted to make sure they had somewhere safe to stay."

All three heads nodded approvingly. "When do we start?" asked Grant.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Two weeks had passed since Jo arrived in the middle of Camp Lazarus, and they had gained twelve new members. Five women, seven men; four soldiers, three hunters, one occultist, four civilians. One civilian was a cook.

This news Jo took in happily. With the ever growing number of people simple meals she and her mother made, and sometimes Grant and Tanner, just weren't cutting it anymore.

"I'll take care of everything," Alan said with a reassuring smile. "Just let me at a store and I'll get what we need."

It was certainly a weight off of Jo's shoulders. She had found that managing a community took a lot more work than she had imagined. All the magic in the world couldn't help her with strategizing work rotations and training sessions. The only way she kept herself in check was by remembering her time as Everything and remembering that it was only sixteen people instead of 6.6 billion.

Perhaps that was why Gabriel wanted her as the leader. Jo understood the bigger picture better than anyone else at Camp Lazarus, and that was saying something. Dying tended to put things in perspective for people.

Whatever the reason, be it memories of Everything or simply by luck of the draw, she was getting a little worried. Gabriel hadn't made himself known to her since she arrived, and while Jo understood he was busy, it scared her a little when she considered all the things she didn't know.

And then finally, while she, Grant, and the first three regulars were cleaning more of the cabins, she felt more than heard a fluttering of wings behind her.

She turned and involuntarily smiled as Gabriel stepped forward.

"Miss me?" he asked, the sarcastic lilt still firmly in place.

"I thought you'd forgotten about me," Jo teased, stepping forward. "Just stopping by?"

"Dropping off a couple new recruits," the angel said with a smirk. "But you and I have some business to attend to, so if you'll just clear things up here…"

Jo turned to Grant. "Take over with this," she instructed. "If we can get two more cabins done by tonight, we'll only have seven more to go with the rest of the camp. Have Ellen-" it was strange to call her mother by her name "-get clothes for the new people and take them shopping, and tell Alan to cook for two more and save me a plate. And if you could move everything into the cabins we cleaned yesterday so Tom and Elsie can move out of my cabin –"

Grant put a hand over her mouth. "I've got it, Jo," he reassured her.

She hesitated before walking to Gabriel's side. "I see you've really got the hang of this," he commented. "I knew you were the perfect choice."

A tug on her shoulder was the only thing to alert Jo of her transportation; she blinked and they were in an empty field.

"That's the first thing I'm teaching you," the angel announced. "You're the only one who can do it, none of the others have enough Grace. Now, imagine yourself standing in the middle of that clump of trees, there. No, right there, do you see that clearing?" He turned her head to look where he was pointing.

Jo took a deep breath and privately thought to herself that she felt like Harry Potter getting apparition lessons.

"Okay, clear your mind," Gabriel said impatiently. "You're all cluttered up there, relax. Things work out, you don't need to be so stressed. Alright, now imagine yourself there. Think of exactly where you want to be and just allow yourself to be there. Want it like you've never wanted anything in your life."

"I want to be there," she murmured, concentrating so hard she felt ready to burst. When she opened her eyes, however, she was in the same spot.

The archangel sighed. "You're trying too hard," he scolded. "It's not about straining yourself, it's about letting yourself go. Like a massage."

They went at it for an hour. Jo didn't understand why it was so hard for her; no matter how much she wanted it, she couldn't get from Point A from Point B. she could feel sweat dripping from her forehead into her eyes, so hard was her focus.

"Alright, stop," snapped Gabriel.

She wiped her brow with her sleeve. "I don't get it!" she complained. "It's like it's just out of reach!"

Gabriel moved behind her and started massaging her shoulders. "So stop reaching," he said. She relaxed into his touch. "Just let yourself go. Breathe in… and out… in… Are you calm? Okay, just picture it in your mind's eye."

Jo saw the clearing in her head, and nodded lazily.

"Now imagine yourself standing in the middle. Just like a photo, or something. Don't push yourself, just let it be."

She did. Jo watched as she materialized in her head, little by little. Her hair seemed to be glowing in the sunlight. And then Gabriel dropped his hands and the air seemed a little colder, like the sun wasn't on her back.

When the archangel spoke to her, it seemed to come from far away. "Open your eyes."

Jo was there, in the clearing, just as she'd pictured herself to be.

She released a squeal. "I did it!" she cried, jumping up and down a little on the balls of her feet. Gabriel made a gesture for her to come back, and she was there without even pausing to think about it. "I thought it would be hard, like when I use regular magic," Jo admitted. "I had to concentrate to learn that. This… this is like breathing."

"I told you not to think to hard about it," Gabriel said with a smirk. "The next thing, you're going to teach to the rest of your people. Come with me."

Together they arrived in a nice suburban house.

Jo frowned and opened her mouth to ask what they were doing, but the archangel shook his head and put a finger to his lips. She didn't question his order, merely stood as still as stone as they waited for what seemed like hours.

And then, the door opened to admit three men and two women.

She couldn't have said how it happened, but one second the five people stood before her and Gabriel and the next they were bound and gagged in the middle of a devil's trap.

"Alright, here's the thing," the archangel said matter-of-factly. So matter-of-factly they could be in the middle of a tutorial on braiding hair. "There are two things you can do. You can exorcise demons, like the rest of our little army, or you can kill them."

"Would this hurt the people inside?" Jo asked tentatively. Something told her the angel didn't care.

"No," Gabriel said shortly. "Now, watch me closely."

The archangel put the palm of his hand to one of the men's forehead and focused. As Jo watched, it almost seemed as though he was _pulling_ something out, although his hand never moved. A brilliant, blinding white light came from where his hand lay, and the demon let out an unearthly scream as the light reached its zenith. The man slumped when Gabriel took his hand away.

"I just exorcised it," he explained. "Did you see that? Did you see the pull?"

"Yeah," Jo said, her voice wobbly. "Can I try?"

"That's why we're here, silly," scoffed the angel. He put her palm on another man's head. "Feel the demon inside. Feel that evil."

And God, could she feel it. It was a writhing mass of black nausea, a twisted hole of _wrongness_ so powerful she felt the bile rise in her throat.

Gabriel put a hand on her shoulder. "With your mind, pull the demon out," he instructed.

Jo didn't know how she knew what to do, but the rhythm of exorcising came naturally to her. It was as though a hook from her soul latched onto the demon through her hand, and yanked out the darkness with light. An image of pulling hair from a drain sprung to mind, and her stomach rolled while the light faded.

The angel squeezed her shoulder. "Perfect. Killing, though, that's harder."

He released her and moved to one of the women, again placing his palm. This time, though, the pull didn't happen. Instead, she could describe it best as a fire of light searing through the woman, who let out a scream much more agonized than the men before her, like she was burning from the inside out.

But, Jo had to admit, it felt as though she accomplished more when she killed the demon, although the drop of sweat from her forehead was frustrating. She liked feeling as though she'd permanently rid the world of something evil, while helping an innocent person.

Gabriel allowed her to kill the last demon as well, slinging an arm over her shoulder as she panted from the effort.

"Well done, kiddo," he said with a satisfied smirk. "My little girl's just growing up _so_ fast."

"What do we do with them?" Jo asked, gesturing towards the now un-possessed people.

"I'm going to take them home," the archangel said, as though it was obvious. "Did you think I was just going to leave them here? Your opinion of me is too low."

Jo rolled her eyes and removed herself from his arm. "Cool it, daddy, it was just a question," she laughed. "Anything else you're going to teach me?"

He smacked her upside the head. "Hold on a minute."

Suddenly, the five people and Gabriel were gone, and Jo was left standing in the empty house. She frowned, turning in a full circle, but the archangel had left the building.

It was strange; she may have been joking when she called the archangel "daddy" but it still applied. Jo had lived most of her life without a father, although long enough to have painfully sweet memories of her dad. He had taught Jo everything she knew, and now Gabriel was teaching her with the same patience and ease that Bill Harvelle had possessed. And when someone creates you, well, they qualify as something of a parent, don't they.

"Honey, I'm home!" the archangel called with mock cheer, appearing beside her. "Let's go to the hospital."

Now they were beside the bed of a young girl with bandages all over her little body. The girl was breathing through a tube, and her arm connected to an IV.

Jo felt her heart twist.

"Heal her," commanded Gabriel.

"I don't know how," she argued, although in a whisper.

"Think of it like a reverse exorcism," he said casually. "Instead of pulling something out, you're pushing something in."

Jo sighed and put her hand on the girl's forehead, and emptied her mind. Something about this was far more scary than coming face to face with demons, and she knew her main concern was to do with the safety of the little girl. She took in a deep breath and released it, imagining that she was releasing some of her essence into the girl. White light flowed from her palm and into the girl, whose eyes began to open.

Gabriel yanked her away to the clearing where they had begun.

"Did it work?" Jo asked frantically. "Did I heal her?"

"That's why we're back here," the angel answered. He spoke as though they were discussing the weather, not a young girl's life. "You succeeded. And right about now her room is filled with nurses and doctors, trying to figure out what happened."

"But they won't know," she finished softly. "Is that it?"

"That's all you can learn from me," he said, nodding. "Healing and exorcisms you can pass on to the others, but killing demons and traveling, that's all you baby."

Jo paused for a moment to take it all in. "Wow," she breathed.

"Wow is right," Gabriel said happily. "Now, I've got to go run an errand in heaven. Wish me angels!"

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Jo had a problem. One of the regulars, after mastering the art of exorcism, started pushing to go on raids.

That had been the plan all along, but she wasn't comfortable with putting anyone on a task force until Tanner gave the go ahead. She trusted his judgment, and when he said they weren't ready to take assertive action Jo believed him.

But Tom was stirring up dissention. He started speaking to the other regulars, using his charisma to prompt their thoughts towards raiding demon strongholds and pushing out on their own without Jo's approval or direction. In the number of sixteen, it wouldn't have been a problem, but their numbers had increased to over fifty by now and Jo and Ellen didn't have time to speak with them all individually.

It came to a head when Tom confronted Tanner during a training session. Jo was on the other side of camp but a soldier named Alice came and got her.

"You're just scared that we'll be better than you if you let us loose!" Tom yelled angrily.

"I'm doing the best thing for you!" Tanner snapped. "If you want to die again, that's your problem; I'm going to protect everyone here as best as I know how!"

"Well you don't know anything," the other man spat. "You and that blonde bitch are just spinning your wheels."

Jo stepped forward. "If you've got something to say to me, say it to my face Tom," she said dangerously.

The whispers and the yells of encouragement (for both Tom and Tanner) ended abruptly. All eyes were upon her as she stood before the scene about ten paces back. Although shorter than both, Jo radiated power and anger so strong both seemed dwarfed in comparison.

"Fine, I will," Tom said. "You teach us how to exorcise demons by hauling a few of them here at a time. We're not doing anything productive – we're not doing what Gabriel wants us to do! You're being timid and lazy because you're afraid to die again."

"Don't talk to her like that," Tanner growled protectively, moving towards him.

Jo felt her stomach flutter again, but said, "Tanner, back off."

Her commanding officer did so with a sharp glare in Tom's direction.

"What, are you afraid to face me?" Tom goaded. "Do you think I'm right? Are you just scared to admit that I'm a better leader than –"

It was time, she decided. Until now she hadn't demonstrated how her powers were superior to that of the others, but a show of force was the only thing she could think of to get Tom to back down. So she moved herself with her mind to stand directly in front of her challenger, almost nose to nose.

Tom lurched back as the rest of the onlookers gasped and started muttering again.

Jo thrust out a hand and levitated him in the air, at least ten feet above the ground. And then she rose in the air delicately to meet him, creating outright shouts of alarm.

"Do you want to see what happens when I drop you?" she asked.

He shook his head violently, and she began to lower him down.

"Because, Tom, if I dropped you I could heal you in an instant. Your guts could be pouring out of you and I could fix you without a thought. Do you know how painful it is to hold your entrails inside your body? because I do. I held my guts in with an ACE bandage for three hours before blowing myself up, and I'd do it all over again if it meant saving one more life. Even yours, Tom."

"I –" Tom didn't seem to find anything to say.

"Don't ever accuse me of cowardice," Jo hissed, walking straight up to him as soon as their feet hit the ground. "I do what I do to protect you all. Most of you don't know what demons are like. The ones I brought to you were in devil's traps, safe and easy practice targets. Out in the world, they're dangerous. Ask any hunter here.

"Tanner says you're not ready, and I trust his judgment. And the fact that you think you know everything proves he's right. My first hunt, I was cocky and thought I could handle it, and I got fucked over. I was locked in a box with the ghost of H. H. Holmes ready to torture me for weeks, if my friends hadn't shown up. If I had listened to them and was a little more careful, I wouldn't have had to go through that. So believe me when I say I'm only doing this for your benefit."

Jo felt herself shaking from the display of power. Magic was easy enough, but making someone listen to you? That was hard.

Tom spluttered. "I don't –"

She shook her head slowly, and he shut up. "That voice of yours has been a problem," she said firmly. "Until you're ready to use it wisely, I don't think you should have it."

And although Jo wasn't sure it could even be done, she put a hand to his throat and pulled his voice into her. She could feel the jump of energy flow through her arm and nestle somewhere inside her chest for safe keeping.

Tom opened his mouth and tried to talk, but nothing came out. He tried again, to no avail.

Jo turned to look at everyone. "I don't want this to be a disciplinary camp," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I want us to all get along and work for a common purpose. For that, I need you to trust me. _Come to me_ if you have doubts or ideas. I won't turn you away. But don't ever put me in this position again."

It was silent for a minute. And then –

"You rock," said a regular named Janice.

"Yeah," one of the assigned nurses (Alexander, she recalled) said with a laugh. "You're like, the Head Bitch in Charge."

The next few minutes established Jo as HBC, from then on her official title.

But Jo hardly noticed. Tanner was looking at her in admiration, and she couldn't help but feel giddy. The fluttering came back in full force.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

The first raid went better than Jo had anticipated.

She took Tanner, Ellen, and nine other regulars to a location in New York, a small town hosting twenty demons ten miles outside of Buffalo. From their location in West Virginia, Jo had to transport the two military-esque Jeeps they'd acquired with her mind, leaving her drained at the end of it.

Against Tanner's advice, one of the regulars she'd brought along was Tom. He'd been on good behavior ever since her reproach, and while she wasn't ready to give him his voice back she thought it only fair he should get a reward.

"I don't trust him," Tanner insisted darkly. "He's reckless, could get people killed."

"He can't say anything," Jo reminded him. "I think he needs to do this, Tanner. If he doesn't see what it's like and how dangerous it is, he'll just go back to what he was doing before."

So, with a shrug and a look of "don't say I didn't warn you," her commanding officer got in the Jeep and waited for her to lift them away.

Jo sat in the passenger's seat next to her mom, trying not to pass out. If anything went wrong, she needed to be on the ball.

It was just so hard when she felt ready to collapse.

"We've got a couple of hours, honey," Ellen said, patting her on the knee. "Just sleep. You need your rest."

"Yeah, HBC," Elsie piped up. "If I were you I'd be dead."

Jo rolled her eyes and allowed her lids to drop, fading off amidst the rumble and bump of the ride. Her mind emptied, and her breathing slowed. Although she was ready at any moment to spring forward, Jo found her body relaxing enough to fall asleep.

When her eyes opened again, Ellen was just pulling to a stop. Jo jolted forward and hopped out of the Jeep, waiting for Tanner's crew to park beside them. The regulars poured out, and Jo silently admired at how many people she had at her disposal. Gabriel had stopped by a couple days earlier to reassure her he was almost done providing people, but it was still overwhelming to consider the number.

"There's twelve of us," Jo said, slipping into the role of commander she had perfected by now. "And approximately twenty demons. That means some of you will exorcise more than one demon. Some of you might not find any. But we're doing this just like we trained; in pairs."

She set about splitting up the group into two, one with Ellen and one with Tanner. Jo paired herself up with Tom, who seemed nervous at the idea.

In all honesty, she wasn't entirely keen on the idea either, but she wanted to protect Tom from himself.

"Tanner, your three pairs go to the main entrance," instructed Jo. "Mom, two pairs to the rear. The two of us are sneaking in topside."

Everyone set off, and Jo gripped her partner's arm. "I'm not giving you your voice back yet, so if you want to make it through this, you'll do everything I say," she said in a low voice. "Do not move without consulting me. This you do by tapping me on the shoulder twice. Use simple hand gestures to make your point. Are we clear?"

He nodded fervently.

"Good," she said, and flew them up in the air and over the rooftops until they arrived at their destination. Jo set them down gently and moved toward the door.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened it and motioned for Tom to follow her. She took a few steps down and heard the door close quietly above her.

They descended the first flight of stairs with no trouble at all, but on the landing a tall woman with black eyes lunged for them, followed by two other possessed men.

Jo caught the woman by the throat and placed her palm upon the demon's forehead. She didn't hesitate, didn't stop to debate, simply killed the blackness inside with her burning light. Her adrenaline kept her upright and stable.

She turned to see Tom had successfully exorcised one demon but the other had him pinned against the wall. Tom's eyes were wide with fear as the black-eyed man punched through his ribs and made to pull his heart out.

In an instant, Jo blasted the demon away from the regular and against another wall. Tom slid to the ground, blood pouring from his body as Jo lifted a hand to the demon and exorcised it. She feared to kill it, because what if she didn't have enough strength to save her charge afterwards? As much as she didn't like Tom she didn't want him to die (again), and didn't want anyone to die on the first raid.

The man's body slumped, unconscious, once she drew the demon out.

Jo dropped her mental hold on him, mentally transporting herself to a crouch by Tom's side.

"Stay with me," she murmured, placing a hand on his brow.

His eyes were full of tears, and he gripped her forearm with a surprisingly strong hold for someone who had lost so much blood. Jo breathed in deeply and shoved as much energy as she could into Tom's body, nearly collapsing from the effort.

Tom arched his back in a silent scream as her energy ripped through him, the wound rapidly healing before her eyes. Blinking herself into consciousness, Jo put her hands on the floor to support herself, to prevent falling over and passing out. She had overextended herself today, using power best left for a full-fledged angel…

A familiar hand rested on her back. "You didn't have to save him," Gabriel said wearily. "He was a pain in the ass, and you know it."

"You're the one who gave him to me," she managed to retort, gasping for air.

"Well, I'm allowed the occasional judgment error," he said cheerfully. "Why _did_ you save him, anyway?"

"He's my charge," Jo spat at the angel. "I have to take care of him, and I did. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

Gabriel sighed. "Next time, don't try to kill yourself; I won't always be available to fix you up," he scolded, and suddenly she felt herself re-energized as his hand pressed against her spine. And then he was gone, just as suddenly as he came.

Jo paused to regain her breath, and then sat up.

Tom was looking at her, fully healed. He moved forward and gave her a hug so genuine Jo felt tears rise to her eyes.

"Oh, get off," she muttered, and pushed him away gently. "Do you get it now? Why I kept you all safe?"

He nodded vehemently.

"I guess you can have this back now," said Jo, grabbing his hand and allowing his voice to jump from her chest to his. "Don't even think about messing with me again, though; I don't have the patience for it."

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Ellen thought it would be a wonderful idea to have a bonfire night once a week. With exactly one hundred and six residents of Camp Lazarus (no longer "and counting"), it wasn't always easy to get to know everyone.

"They just need some way to get to know each other," her mother said. "It will help them build trust, and we'll need that later on."

Jo agreed, but she didn't always go. The first week, she had a great time, but by the fourth week she needed some time alone.

It wasn't as though she didn't enjoy people; on the contrary, she enjoyed them very much. The problem was, she was surrounded by people 24/7 and always paid attention to them even if she was technically alone. It was always "for the camp" and Jo couldn't remember the last time she had taken care of herself without having to worry over others. If everyone else was busy, then they wouldn't miss her.

It was a chilly night, although not outright cold. For winter on the East Coast they received very little snowfall and only once or twice so far. Perhaps West Virginia didn't get all that much snow – more likely it was Gabriel providing warmth for them.

Who was going to notice when the rest of the world was falling apart?

The full moon lit Jo's way as she meandered through the camp, taking in everything. The buildings were all freshly painted and clean inside, everything looked brand new and fully functional. It amazed her to think that only a short while ago, this place had been a mess.

"Hey, HBC," she heard Tanner call above her.

Jo turned and saw him sitting on the roof of one of the cabins. "How'd you get up there?" she asked.

"I jumped," he said, and illustrated his point by jumping back down smoothly.

"Well, look at you," she teased.

Tanner laughed and joined her. They stood before each other, and Jo felt her stomach flutter again, as though butterflies were having a violent, bloody rebellion inside her. Something about the man in front of her made Jo nervous, but pleasantly so.

"Why aren't you at the bonfire?" she asked him.

"Same reason you aren't," Tanner said with a shrug. "I need a break every once in a while."

"I haven't really been taking breaks," confessed Jo sheepishly. "Everything's just been so hectic around here, with organizing raids and supply runs and accommodating everyone's needs, I just… I love what I'm doing, but it's as though I barely have time to breathe."

He smiled warmly. "I couldn't imagine doing what you do; I'd go crazy."

"It's not all that bad," Jo assured him. And the funny thing was, she wasn't lying. Camp Lazarus was her life, and she had never felt more alive, not even when she was hunting.

"You can say that because you're amazing," he joked, and then froze.

Something in her chest froze as well, halting all activity in the pregnant pause, waiting for him to continue.

Tanner shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry, Jo," he mumbled. "It's just… I…"

"You what?" she breathed.

His expression was torn in so many directions she couldn't begin to understand what he was thinking, and she waited with baited breath for one facet to triumph over the others. After what felt like a lifetime, his hand inched towards her hair and he ran his fingers through it.

Jo repressed a gasp, feeling a golden glow rise in her chest. She was powerless to stop it, a dam had been broken that she didn't know existed. She didn't want it to stop.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Tanner's face came towards hers. And then he kissed her in the glow of the pale moonlight.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

It was unclear how, but Grant and found out how to freeze water with a certain complicated motion.

"You just – here, like this," he said distractedly, holding her arms in a decidedly uncomfortable position. "And then you move like this, and… well, it works when I do it. Maybe it's about intention, you're just not wanting ice badly enough."

"I can't imagine why," Jo grumbled and yanked her arms away from him. "Have you noticed it's snowing? Hard?"

Grant dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Trust me, this will help Alan and Tracy," he promised, naming the camp cook and doctor.

Jo raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure that?"

"Well," he said proudly, "Alan needs to freeze and refrigerate a lot of our food stores, and the four refrigerators and three iceboxes aren't enough. We could build a large container and cool it with our own ice! It costs money, you know. Ice. And Tracy needs a cold place to put her equipment."

"I'll talk to Ellen about it before I make any decisions," Jo said. She was almost completely used to calling her mom Ellen now, although every so often she would trip on the word. "If it makes sense, then I don't see why not."

"Come on, you don't need to talk to her," Grant pleaded, sounding for all the world like a five year old and not the forty-two years he actually was.

Jo rolled her eyes. "I do, she's in control of supplies and purchases," she reminded her commanding officer. "Maybe we can just get more refrigerators."

"And waste this discovery!" he gasped in shock. "Why would we spend money on something we can get for free?"

"Because Gabriel takes care of the money, or don't you remember that what we need just magically appears in our pockets?"

"You wound me," Grant accused, pointing a finger at her and waggling it.

Jo shoved his finger out of her face with a laugh. Grant was always fun to spend time with, mainly because he was carefree and knew things other people didn't – her father, for one. Jo would spend countless hours with Grant reminiscing about Bill Harvelle, and sometimes listening to stories about Rufus and Bobby.

When they talked about the hunters Jo knew, she always felt a twinge of worry in her gut. Rufus and Bobby (and the Winchesters) thought she was dead, and although she wanted to let them know she wasn't, Jo didn't have the time to visit.

Besides, Gabriel had implied that Camp Lazarus was to remain a total secret. Telling the other hunters would only be a security risk.

Someone knocked frantically on the commanding officer cabin's door. Jo waved it open to reveal a frantic looking Elsie.

"HBC, we've got a problem!" she said in a rush.

"Breathe, Elsie," Jo instructed calmly.

The girl took all of three seconds to calm down before winding herself back up again. "Tanner and Mace found a few men near the outskirts of camp," she recited. "Tanner's got them in a cabin, I'm supposed to take you there."

"Are they demons?" she asked the regular.

"I don't know, I just know they were lurking around," Janice answered nervously.

Jo sighed. "Well, what are you waiting for? Take me there." She got up and followed the twitchy regular across camp.

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(Author's Note): This interlude is over twice as long as the regular chapters, so I hope it makes up for the long wait. I know, I'm terrible. Perhaps I should just stop making deadlines, and I won't freak out. So… good to see Jo again? You like? Dislike? Tell me, I'm dying to know!

Please Review ^_^


	6. Four: Harbinger

Disclaimer: I am a devoted servant of the Great Kripke and would never, _ever _steal anything he's ever created. I'm just having a little bit of fun.

(Author's Note): You guys thought I abandoned you, didn't you? I would never. The plot bunnies for Harry Potter decided to have a revival, so there was that and my _real life_ that completely swamped me. I would rant, but I figure you guys want the chapter now… so, it starts directly where three left off.

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Tehiyyat ha-Metim

Chapter Four: Harbinger

When Dean could see clearly again, all the corpses were gone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nazeal slam against a wall.

Dean fell off the cross and landed on the altar table. A few bronze ware pieces bit into his body sharply, causing him to hiss in pain. He sat up, trying to breathe normally, and swung his feet off the table into a sitting position. Sam rushed over to him.

"Are you alright?" his brother asked.

"Yep," he grunted. "Give me a hand, would you?" Sam helped him off the table and lifted up his left arm; Dean had almost forgotten he was bleeding, but the blood flow was continuous and thick. Sam grabbed a cloth from the arrangement and hastily put pressure on the wound as they made their way to Castiel, who in turn was staring at Nazeal.

Dean nudged his friend. "Hey," he panted. "What's going on?"

Castiel's eyes didn't stray from the demon, and slowly Dean looked in the same direction.

It was Anna.

Red haired and striking, the angel who'd fallen to earth now stood before Nazeal with her hand outstretched and eyes blazing. The demon struggled, fighting her hold, but Anna would not be moved. She moved in closer and closed her hand around his throat.

"How did you find the Winchesters?" she snarled.

"We…" Nazeal gasped. "We knew he'd come here, we tracked his movements from the Singer house."

Anna shook him. "What do you mean, 'we?'" The demon didn't answer. "Who is 'we'? Speak!"

Nazeal shook his head. "Go back to heaven, bitch," he wheezed.

She put her free hand to his forehead and began to draw out the demon. "Tell me, or I will lock you so deep in hell you won't know your own name," she threatened.

Dean had never seen this side of Anna before, only the sweet girl who didn't know what was happening to her, or the stoic yet emotional angel that was privy to things he couldn't imagine. This warrior in front of him was unfamiliar, and a little scary.

"Raum," spat Nazeal. "You can't stop him; he will find our Father's ves-"

Anna gave out a cry of fury and drew Nazeal out of the corpse with the bright light of an angelic exorcism. And as the body collapsed to the floor, she passed her hand over it. The same blinding light from before shone from her palm and the body dissipated.

"Just goes to show," Dean grumbled, "Cremation's always better."

As he spoke Anna looked up. She made her way over to him and placed her hand on his forehead; a searing pain traveled through his veins, and then the slash through his arm no longer ached. Dean pulled up his sleeve to check, and underneath the blood there was no mark, not even a scar.

"Thanks, Anna," he grunted, shaking Sam off him.

"How did you escape?" asked Castiel with awe in his voice.

Dean frowned. "Wait, escape?" he said. "What do you mean, escape?" He looked back and forth between the two angels, who did not cease gazing at each other.

Anna answered the question, sounding a million miles away. "He was controlled by Heaven's conscience and turned me in." Dean felt a boil of anger in his chest, but before he could rip one into Cas, she threw him off guard. "I forgive you, Castiel." And then she stepped forward and kissed the other angel's cheek.

He felt more than a little uncomfortable with the tension. It wasn't exactly sexual, Dean noted, but there was a certain connection between the two that he couldn't quite wrap his head around. What Cas had said before attempting to kill Anna a year ago, _"We have a history,"_ struck him anew.

But Dean didn't like dealing with this stuff, and said "So, how _did_ you escape, then? If you were locked in angel hell, that is."

"Gabriel set me free," she answered him, finally looking in his direction.

"Wait, hold on," Sam cut in. "Gabriel? You mean the Trickster?"

Anna nodded.

"But how could he do that?" said Cas, sounding concerned. "He is as much of a fugitive as you or I; he can't simply walk into Heaven."

"He can now," Anna said, looking at all of them now. "Seraphiel is on the move. She is searching for her vessel."

Dean remembered Crowley mentioning the name that night at the crossroads. "Seraphiel… she's the archangel we haven't met yet? Well, besides Michael, but he doesn't count, does he?" He didn't know the significance of this archangel, but the look of fear on Castiel's face and the worry on Anna's was enough to make him nervous.

Cas turned to him very seriously. "Seraphiel is the leader of the garrison," he said quietly. "She is very cunning, very powerful."

"And she hasn't been on Earth since she stayed Abraham's hand," Anna finished.

"Okay, so she's badass," Dean said with a shrug. "What bothers me more at the moment is this Raum guy."

"Don't take Seraphiel lightly, Dean," warned Castiel with something close to a shudder. "She is one of the four angels to look upon God's face; she answers to none but Him and Michael. You can't imagine the power she has."

Anna sighed. "We have to leave immediately," she told them. "Raum _is_ a threat."

"Well, what about those people down in the basement?" Sam asked. "We have to let them know the threat's over."

"For now," said Cas. Anna set off past the altar, pausing to meet Father Grayson's eyes as he crawled out of wherever he'd been hiding. The priest fell back slightly and allowed the angel to pass, his face a mask of awe.

Dean mentally prepared himself for the pain as he moved his body, only to realize that Anna had healed all of his body, not just his arm. He grinned and stretched, and looked up at the cross he had just been thrown against. Was it irony that had Nazeal place him like Jesus, or a hint of things to come?

Was he just reading too much into it?

Down below, he heard several shots go off, and knew the guy Sam had set up with a gun had shot at Anna. Dean knew firsthand how ineffective shooting an angel was and didn't worry about her, but still felt annoyed that someone would shoot one of the few allies he and Sam had left.

One by one, he watched as the fugitives started coming up the stairs, all looking shocked by what he could only imagine to be Anna's impenetrable skin. Last to come up was the man with the shotgun, walking beside the female angel and apologizing profusely, or so it seemed. The man followed her all the way back to the Winchesters.

"…and if I had known, well," he hedged.

"Jason?" Sam interrupted cautiously. "Can I have my gun back?"

"Oh, of course," said Jason. Dean noticed he was trembling slightly.

"It's over, dude," he muttered. "They're gone."

Anna stepped up to him and Sam, holding out her palms to take them elsewhere. Dean yanked himself back, stumbling into Cas.

"No," he said. "No fucking way."

"Dean, be reasonable," Castiel muttered. "It's not safe for either of you and you know it."

"I don't care," Dean shot back, although he did care. His first priority was and always would be Sam, even if things got confusing or crazy. "We can't live our lives on the run; I mean, not anymore than we already are. It's not good for either of us. If the demons come, we're going to fight them. I'm sick of running away."

The red haired angel glared. "They will kill you."

He shook his head. "They're not angels," he said stubbornly. "We can kill them first, or at least exorcise them. Maybe, if you stick around, you can take care of some too. But we can't keep doing this."

"I agree," Sam said to his left, and Dean looked at him gratefully. "If all we're going to do is run, then what's the point of being in a war?"

"Castiel, tell them," implored Anna. "Tell them it's not safe."

The angel looked from his kin to his friend, and Dean watched the conflict pass across his face, back and forth, a tandem of emotions and logic and angelic wisdom all at war. Dean could remember when Cas was just a soldier, and not a friend. Decision making was easy for him back then.

A choice seemed to be made. "Anna," began Cas.

"No," she looked at him in horror. "No, Castiel, you can't be serious."

"Anna, it's about free will," Castiel insisted. "We can't make this choice for them, we can only help them."

"It's suicide!"

"Maybe," the angel allowed. "But this whole mission is suicide anyways."

Anna shook her head at the three of them, but Dean felt nothing but pride. Pride in Castiel, for siding with him; pride in Sam, for being the same strong brother he respected; and pride in himself, for finally deciding to not turn tail and run.

It was time to finish things, once and for all.

And Dean accepted (regretfully) that Sam's life was more important than Jo's death, at least at the moment.

He would find Meg again. It was bound to happen, she couldn't stay away forever. And he _would_ kill her, he would put her down like a dog, and although he'd feel sorry for the girl she'd taken over, he'd be at peace.

"We should go," said Cas, gesturing towards the people milling about the church in confusion. "You have served your purpose here, and Nazeal will be back."

"I thought you killed him," Sam said incredulously to Anna.

"I can't kill a demon in a dead body, especially when parts of his essence are elsewhere," she answered. "He would have to be in a living form, and even then I'm not sure if I have enough to kill him, just exorcise. Nazeal is a high level demon."

Dean shuddered at his memories. "Yeah, I know." He tore his minds' eye away from Hell and back to earth. "Anna, can you clean up that devil's trap? Sam, grab the guns and the knife, we've got to go, now."

With a snap of her fingers, the paint on the floor disappeared.

The four of them made their way outside to the Impala, and Dean got behind the wheel. He rested his head against the steering wheel for a moment, closing his eyes in exhaustion. He hadn't slept for nearly fifteen hours, and an hour or two would do him wonders.

But he knew that if he drifted off, hell would turn his dreams to nightmares. After just seeing Nazeal and being reminded of everything he'd seen and done, so starkly and abruptly, Dean could almost feel his memories creeping up to the front of his mind, waiting to assault him.

He lifted his head and shook it clear. "We're driving through the night," he announced to the car once everyone was inside. "Sam and I will take it in shifts to drive."

"I know how to drive," said Anna. "I was human for twenty-one years, it's still fresh."

"No offense or anything, but no one but me or Sam gets behind this wheel," said Dean.

That and, if he took her offer, he knew sleep would come.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Sam felt himself on the brink between consciousness and dreams, aware yet asleep. The engine's hum and the sound of wheels against road were so familiar, and so tempting. But his mind was racing with fear and adrenaline, and he couldn't bring himself to relax.

Mostly, it was Dean who worried him.

He had accepted that Dean had changed from his time in hell. His big brother was no longer the "go and get 'em" sort of guy, instead picking his battles almost too carefully. When Sam wanted to take on Lilith, Dean tugged him away and into hiding.

So what had changed?

It was confusing, or maybe it was Jo's death that had motivated his brother so thoroughly.

Whatever it was, he was both grateful and wary of it. Sam didn't want to trust that Dean would stick to this, and he was afraid that after a couple days his brother's mind would return to killing Meg. It was treading on thin ice, and Dean's mood was the crack that could send them tumbling down.

Behind him, he could feel the two angel's presence. It made his skin crawl, and he hated that. He hated his unease and fear in their presence.

His involuntary revulsion of angels scared him, because if he couldn't be around something that was supposedly a force of good, then what did that make him? when he had chosen to spend time with Ruby rather than with Castiel, did that mean he was inclined towards evil?

Not that it mattered; he wanted nothing to do with either side of the war. Idly he wondered if his unease around Lucifer meant that there was still good in the devil.

Of course there wasn't. Millennia of hatred and anger were irreversible.

Guilt wracked his senses then, powerful, aching guilt. It was his fault they were on the run right now (he could conveniently forget that Dean was equally wanted by heaven and hell), his fault that bounty hunters were crawling out of hell to capture him.

Sometimes, Sam wished he could bury himself in a hole and stay hidden until it all went away.

He'd never told anyone this before; not Dean or Ruby, or even Bobby.

Sam was supposed to be the hot-headed brother, the one jumping in to things without considering the consequences, while Dean was the cautious one. It had always been that way, even though Dean was the leader or especially because of it.

So admitting that he was afraid wasn't an option. They both had their shoes to fill, and if he stepped out of them… he couldn't step out of them. a\All he could so was hide his fear, keep it buried away and locked up, and pretend it wasn't real. Like Dean always said, take your shit and bury it, don't whine about it. use it.

Maybe it all came down to fear. Fear into rage, fear into aggression, fear into… well, whatever it was inside him.

He sighed and sat up from his slump. Sleep was too elusive right now.

"Can I drive?" he asked.

Dean shook his head jerkily, and Sam noticed for the first time that his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

"Hey, man, are you alright?"

"Honestly? No."

"Do you …wanna talk?" he offered tentatively.

Dean turned his head to look at him incredulously. "You're shitting me, right?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered, and looked out the window into the early morning darkness. The sky was a dark blue-gray, cold and dank and dreary, waiting for the faintest tinge of orange light in the west. Dawn was coming soon, and Sam couldn't tell in which direction it would begin.

He glanced over. "Where are we going?"

"East Coast."

"West Virginia?" Sam's blood ran cold. "Dean, we can't be looking for Meg at a time like this!"

"I know, Sam," snapped Dean. "We're not. We're not looking for any trouble until this whole bounty hunter thing winds down. Believe me, I won't sleep easier for it, but Nazeal scares the shit out of me, and I'm not getting distracted by anything until he's gone."

Sam felt his body relax. "So, what are we going to do?"

His brother sighed. "We're going to go back to hunting jobs. Little ones, nothing major, nothing demonic. Sooner or later, someone's going to catch wind."

"And when they do…"

"When they do, we'll ice 'em. Simple as that."

Castiel leaned forward to speak. "I have to get back to my mission. I can't protect you while I'm searching for God."

"I can," Sam heard Anna say quietly. "I don't like it, but I can."

"Alright," Dean said, nodding. "We're set." In a flutter of wings, Castiel left the Impala.

They drove in silence through the sunrise behind them. Sam hardly noticed as the sun climbed in the sky, only dimly recognizing the landscape was no longer blanketed in darkness. The new light felt weak and empty, and his thoughts turned darker still.

It was sometime past noon, and Sam's stomach was complaining loudly, when farms and houses started sprouting up on either side of the highway. The speed limit dropped drastically as they crawled through another backwoods town of the Midwest.

Dean pulled into the gas station towards the edge of town, which was about two minutes away from the entrance.

"Gas her up, Sammy," he instructed, and went in to get some food. Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car, stretching.

Anna sat still in the backseat, and Sam watched her nervously. She was as unmoving as a statue, and if she was breathing he couldn't tell. He didn't know if angels even needed to breathe, and it unsettled him. The only sign of animation was her hair moving gently in the breeze and her eyes blinking.

As he waited for the tank to fill, he asked awkwardly, "How… what was heaven like?"

Her emotionless eyes turned to bore into him. "You mean, what was heaven's torture like." It wasn't a question.

"I guess, yeah," Sam hedged.

"It's enough to make anyone want to break," answered the angel. "Angels have very little imagination, but we make up for it with perseverance."

"You count yourself with them?" he asked nervously.

Anna raised her eyebrows. "Sam," she said softly. "I _am_ an angel. I'd rather be human, but if I want to survive then I must protect myself. And it serves to protect you as well. But there are parts of me, like there are parts of Castiel now, that feel human emotions."

He frowned. "How? I mean, how do you feel emotions?"

She gestured at her form. "This body is mine, just as Castiel's vessel is now his. We are directly affected by the emotions, not just observing them."

"So you feel pain?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I feel pain."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. He didn't even know what to feel about it.

"We ready to go?" Dean asked from behind him.

"What?" he turned around rapidly. In Dean's hand were two large paper bags, one of which had grease staining the bottom with little splotches. "Yeah, we're ready." Sam hung up the hose and tucked everything away, and made to slide into the passenger's seat.

Dean stopped him. "You're taking this shift," he said gruffly.

Something in his brother's face was taut and worried, as though letting Sam behind the wheel was a danger. It wasn't Dean's usual expression about letting anyone else drive his beloved Impala, it was something much darker.

But he took the keys all the same, forcing himself to believe that if Dean said it was alright, then it would be fine.

It had to be.

Anna shifted in the back seat. "Dean, do you want me to –"

"Yeah," he said, cutting her off. "Go for it."

She leaned forward and put her hands on either side of his head. After a few seconds, Dean was fully asleep, his breathing even and relaxed. Anna pulled her hands away and resumed her statuesque position.

Sam raised his eyebrows at her via the mirror. "What was that?" he asked as he turned the key.

"I hid his dreams," she said as the engine roared. Sam felt his crushing guilt resurface, and glanced at his sleeping brother. It was his fault too Dean had nightmares.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

Egypt was dry. At least, the part of Egypt Castiel was in. The pyramids were surrounded by desert sand and baking in the mid-afternoon sun. Only two thousand years ago, he reflected, this area he stood in now was a lush oasis, flourishing despite a failing monarchy.

But now, it was merely a place for people to chip away at with their tools and science, trying to discover secrets about the past that sometimes were best left forgotten.

Castiel had visited Egypt. It was the crossing of the Red Sea, and unlike how the human Bible portrayed it, it was less to do with the seas parting and more to do with the land rising.

He had helped, of course.

God himself didn't come down from heaven, not even back then. Seraphiel had directed Anna's garrison division to raise the land for the children of Abraham to cross, and he had held hands with Anna (then known as Esther) as the submerged earth rose to meet the feet of the people.

But he supposed that to part the sea was a grander gesture to humans, although he couldn't understand why.

It had been three millennia ago, when Castiel was still young in the ways of the world. Now he was weary of heaven and earth, and all the struggles of hell.

Castiel moved himself inside the pyramid and began scanning the hieroglyphs on the wall.

They spoke of false gods and deities that were not gods at all. The blasphemy made him uncomfortable, but he reminded himself that all faiths were a path to God. He moved past the trivial names and stories, and onto the sacred places of resting.

Africa as a continent was full of holy dwellings. Castiel had been searching Jerusalem and Bethlehem and all the places in the Middle East, but in his heart he knew his Father would not go to such obvious locations to hide out. And since all spiritual homes were God's, Cas knew he needed to widen his search beyond the expected.

As if it was a background sensation, he could feel his body sweating under the many layers he donned.

It was uncomfortable, this state of humanity. He didn't like his weaknesses, how pain was present and fallacies continuing to present themselves.

Thankfully, hunger and sleep were still foreign to him.

A glyph caught his eye, and he leaned in closer to examine it, to touch it; the symbol of a mountain. But there were no mountains in Egypt, so how could it be? Was it from an explorer who had found another civilization?

Beside it was the glyph for prayer, and another for the number eight. It was as though someone were attempting to show him where to go next, although he couldn't understand it.

Frustration welled up inside him, a violent and unexpected visitor. Castiel tried to fight it, subdue it and hide it away, but it kept erupting from him in small bursts. Finally he let go and picked up a piece of fallen rock, throwing it violently across the space.

He felt better afterwards.

There had to be something he wasn't seeing. A mountain, prayer, and the number eight. Where did they lead? What was their purpose?

Perhaps he was only looking at a small part of the bigger picture. Dean, although truly a great man, had infected him with the idea of _now_, and Castiel had lost some of his ability to see beyond what was in front of him and into larger ideas. Perhaps he needed to step back.

What else was on this wall?

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

A violent turn woke him from his dreamless slumber. Dean's head knocked against the window and the residual throbbing ache brought him fully to consciousness.

"What the hell?" he yelled at Sam.

"That's exactly the problem," growled Sam, checking the rearview mirror. "We're being followed."

Dean sat up and twisted around to see the glaring headlights of a car. It was night; he had slept through the whole day and hadn't even eaten anything. His stomach was growling painfully, and his eyes were bleary from his sudden awakening.

"Who is it? is it demons?" he barked.

Anna closed her eyes. "I can't tell," she said frustratedly after a moment's concentration. "I can't get a reading; they must have a hex bag."

Sam sped up, throwing Dean back against the seat with a thud. "Whoever they are, they're not messing around."

"And you're giving an old fashioned chase scene in _my_ car?" Dean exclaimed, outraged.

"Dean, you need some better priorities," his brother said through gritted teeth. They swung around a hairpin turn at breakneck speed, Dean suddenly thankful he'd put his seatbelt on before Anna had knocked him out cold. The speed at which they were going caused his stomach to clench.

"Stop the car!" he yelled.

"Are you crazy?" snapped Sam. "They could kill us."

"We've got a full-fledged angel on our side," Dean reminded him. "It's now or never. Stop the car!" Sam glared at him, but pulled off to the side of the road. Dean got out of the car with his .45 and stood waiting for the car to make it round the bend.

-qp-qp-qp-qp-

(Author's Note): Incidentally, I wrote the Anna portions of the chapter before "The Song Remains the Same," but I suppose it serves as tribute to the Anna That Could Have Been. You know, useful. And not dead. I'm sorry for another cliffhanger, but it won't be as long a wait as the last one, honest. A big fat cookie to whoever guesses what the glyphs referenced.

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